


Survivor

by RuinNine



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinNine/pseuds/RuinNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm a survivor<br/>I'm gonna make it<br/>I will survive<br/>Keep on surviving</p><p>Destiny's Child ~ Survivor</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumaste/gifts).



> This idea was born in a One Sentence Challenge between Lu and me, and it just wouldn't let me go, so I decided to turn it into a proper fic. It's gotten out of control pretty quickly (put it down to watching too many action movies ^^), but I like it the way it is now and I really hope you will, too. As always, many many thanks to my personal cheerleader lumaste, who kept me going and helped me along with advice and tips. And welcome back to GimlisBeard, who is back from dissertation wasteland and ready to delve back into the Sernando universe! Love you both, pumpkins! <3

 

 

— † —

 

“Sergio...”

“What? All I'm asking is to put a good word in for me next time there's a vacancy.”

“Believe me, you wouldn't want to transfer.”

Sergio shrugged and slowly twirled his glass of white wine. “Why not? I could use the extra money.”

Martin drained his own glass to muffle a groan and then sent him an annoyed – and slightly glassy – glare along the bar. “It isn't worth the extra money. That job is stressful, and busy. Thankless. You're risking your life for them and all they give you is massive headaches.” He knocked his knuckles against the counter and signalled the bartender to refill. “You stay with your job of guarding the premises. That's quiet, and comfortable, and you don't have to put up with royal mood swings and petty requests.”

“Come on, it can't be that bad.”

“You have no idea.” The bartender exchanged his empty glass with a new pint, and he glowered at the foam on top. “The princess is a bitch,” he muttered. “Someone should teach her a lesson someday.”

“Martin!” Sergio quickly glanced around, but none of the other patrons paid them any heed. “You can't talk like that!”

“Can too.”

Sergio huffed. “Why are you doing that job if it's so bad?”

Martin shrugged and took another swig of his beer. “If you've been doing it for as long as I have, you can't just quit.” He groaned and pulled a hand down his face. “But hey, maybe the referendum will take care of it. I can't imagine anyone would vote to let them keep the reigns of our country in their grabby hands. It's about time this legacy comes to an end and we get to taste real democracy.” He suddenly grinned. “Hey! Isn't that great? Finally, after two thousand years!”

Sergio simply sighed and shook his head at his colleague. It seemed like they'd both had enough for tonight. “I'm heading back. Got the early shift tomorrow.” He put a note down on the countertop and patted Martin on the shoulder. “Don't add too many. You know it makes you depressive.”

His colleague made a vague noise of protest, but offered him an unsteady handshake nonetheless. “Seriously, don't vote for the royals.”

“Night, Martin.”

As Sergio trudged back down the alley that lead to the palace, the conversation was still going round in his head. Each and every time he tried to get Martin to recommend him for bodyguard duty, his colleague adamantly refused and started bitching about how his job was so terrible and how nerve-racking the royals were. The princess was his favourite complaining victim, and Sergio felt uneasy whenever he started one of his rants on her “mean and spoilt” character (Martin's words, not his). He was afraid that someday, someone would overhear. The pub they usually went to certainly was close enough to the palace, and many members of the staff – chefs, chambermaids and security agents alike – chose the cozy place to relax after a long and exhausting shift. If one of them chose to take his whining seriously (not to mention the constant begging everyone to vote for the royal dynasty to get busted) and reported him, it would be right down treason alley – for the bodyguard and his conspiring friend.

Sergio shuddered at the thought and picked up his pace as one of the servants' entrances came into view. He hadn't decided which box to tick off yet. After all, his job was dependant on that vote. And he liked his job – and the one he was dreaming of. Maybe he shouldn't bring that topic back up again when Martin was around. Or simply apply by himself. Again. But no agent without a recommendation ever made it. With an annoyed grunt, he kicked at a stray pebble. Stupid system.

“Hey, Sergio! Everything alright?”

He schooled his features into an expression that wouldn't betray his mutinous thoughts and smiled at the young guardsman. “Hey, Dani.” He offered his ID for him to check even though, between them, it was unnecessary. But oh well, protocol. “What's up?”

Dani rolled his eyes and pushed his uniform cap back. “Nothing, as always. Where's Martin?”

“Nursing his third last beer, I imagine.”

“That guy will drink himself into a coffin one day.”

Sergio pondered getting offended on his friend's behalf, but then he decided against it. He was too tired and Dani was probably right anyway. “Maybe. See ya.” He nodded his head in thanks when Dani opened the door for him. “Say hi to Cesc for me, yeah?”

“Sure! Night, Sergio!”

Only the nightlights were on in the servants' tunnel, but Sergio could've found his way in the dark if necessary. As a security guard, he knew the pathways of the palace like the back of his hand, and that was exactly the reason why he wanted a transfer so badly. He needed a change of scenery. Guarding the palace was nice, and apart from the occasional stray tourist or bigger event mostly stress-free. And that was fine. But after six years of doing the same routes every day, it was getting boring. He groaned when his mind once again returned to the one train of thought he couldn't shake from his brain.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he took a turn into the hall that led down to his room. He should just go to bed and be content with what he had. Pffft. Was this really what he wanted to do for the next fifty- He jumped when the vibrating of his phone in his pocket suddenly interrupted his inner argument. Checking the caller ID first, he almost didn't pick up. Martin. Oh no. Probably needing a helping hand back to the palace. But then again, better than finding him frozen to death on his morning round.

“Yeah?”

“Sergio!” Martin was slurring alright, but there was something else. It sounded a lot like panic. “Sergio, I need help! I think I did something stupid and I didn't know who else to call, and please, you gotta-”

“Stop!” Sergio took a moment to check the hallway for unwanted listeners, but it was deserted. “Okay, from the top. Where are you? And what did you do?”

“The garage. Please, you gotta come down and help me.”

“What? The garage? Martin-”

“Please. I'll tell you in person, but I really need your help right now, mate.”

So. There was his warm bed on the one hand. And a panicked friend on the other. Sergio groaned inwardly. Of course he'd choose the latter. He couldn't sleep now anyway, wondering what his wasted colleague was doing in the garage all by himself. “Fine.” He pulled his jacket back on. “I'll come down. Where?”

“324.”

He tried not to look too suspicious as he hurried down to the underground car park, but thankfully, he didn't run into any of his colleagues on the way down. He wouldn't know how to explain what the hell he was doing out of duty and out of bed at this ungodly hour, slinking through the palace halls instead. I've got this really fucked up friend, but don't worry, I'm gonna kill him myself as soon as I've carried him to bed? Yeah. Sounded like a great excuse.

The number 324 was occupied by a black sedan, and Martin was pacing back and forth in front of it. “Okay. What did you do? Hurry up, I won't fuck up my morning shift just because you-”

Martin spun around to face him, and Sergio abruptly trailed off when he saw the agitated look on his face. “Sergio, please get in the car, okay? I don't want to risk anyone listening.”

For a moment, Sergio hesitated. He'd been working in the palace for six years now, and he'd known Martin for five, but something about this whole situation screamed at him to turn around and not to get caught up in whatever trouble his friend had brought upon himself. But he'd come down all the way already, he might as well listen at least. “Fine.”

Martin looked so relieved it prompted Sergio to feel guilty about doubting him. Gah. “Thank you.”

Sergio waved for him to stop and got in the passenger seat, impatiently drumming his fingers on the dashboard. Before his friend could start what he knew could only evolve into an uncoordinated drunken rant, he held up a hand. “Okay. Short sentences, straight to the point.”

Martin swallowed hard and nodded. “Remember what I told you in the pub? About the princess?”

Sergio released a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. The lesson?” Martin didn't reply, but he seemed a lot paler than mere moments before, and Sergio felt his heart speed up in his chest. “God, no. Don't tell me you-”

He was interrupted by a nod and a glance towards the backseat, and even though he didn't want to turn around, he followed Martin's gaze. Someone was draped across the seats, obviously unconscious, with their hands bound and a black hood over their head. He couldn't make out any details in the dim light of the garage, but he didn't need to. “Holy-” His voice wavered and then broke off as he whipped back to face Martin. “You did not-” He glanced down at his friend's hand reaching for the keys resting in the ignition. “What the- Martin!”

“Someone had to do it!”

Sergio instinctively dove for the keys, but was blocked by Martin's elbow smashing into his face. He sank back into his seat, a pained gasp slipping out, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the blood dripping from his nose and the car rumbling to life beneath him. He tried to fight through the jumble of thoughts in his head, tried to apply the emergency training the security guards received twice a year, but he couldn't grasp any of the advice he'd been given.

“Martin,” he mumbled instead, his voice weak with disbelief and pain.

“Shut up!” Martin took a sharp turn and directed the car onto the lane leading upwards, and Sergio had to grasp for the handle of the car door to keep upright. “You don't know what it's been like!”

No, but let's talk about it, Sergio wanted to say, but he was too busy hanging on for dear life and trying not to jostle his pounding head. He couldn't breathe properly through the blood blocking his nose, but he knew he'd be sick if he opened his mouth. There was no end in sight. One circle after the other.

“Slow down, Martin...”

“No!”

“Please...”

Martin didn't answer, and when Sergio risked a glance through the windshield, he could see why. The guards manning the exit barrier were waving their arms, shouting for them to stop, but Martin didn't listen. Instead, he pushed the accelerator to the limit, and with a sudden lurch, the car broke through the metal bar. Sergio threw his arms up with a yell, expecting to be showered in glass and bits of metal, but the beam only glanced off the glass with a deafening screech. It broke the radio antenna clean off, but left the windshield without a scratch. It's armoured, Sergio thought numbly, his ears filled with the scream of tires and his own gasping breath. Shit, shit, shit.

“Martin-”

A groan from the backseat cut him off and they both froze. That didn't sound like a princess. Sergio slowly turned in the passenger seat, just in time to watch the captive in the back pull down the hood with their bound hands. No, definitely not the princess. But-

“What the fuck?!”

The prince instead. Oh God. The goddamn heir to the throne. For a moment, Sergio couldn't think of a single word to say, but then – out of nowhere – the emergency training suddenly kicked in. “Your Highness, please keep calm. This is a misunderstanding.” He threw a pointed glance at Martin, but his colleague neither replied nor slowed down the car. “I'm sure we can work it-”

“Stop the fucking car and let me go!”

“Please, I need you to-”

“Fuck off! Just stop the-”

“Your Highness-”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

All of a sudden, there was a gun in Martin's hand, swinging wildly back and forth between the back and the passenger seat, and Sergio quickly pushed back until his spine met the window with a thud. “Jesus! What the hell?!”

“Shut your fucking mouth! Both of you! I need to think!”

His voice was still frayed at the edges, the alcohol not yet worn off, and Sergio decided not to provoke an accident by distracting him from driving. He just raised his hands, slowly, and nodded. “Alright. Just calm down, okay?”

Martin sent him an angry glare, his unsettled eyes roving over the backseat before focusing back on the road. “If any of you feel the need to talk or move, I'm gonna shoot you! Understood?!”

Sergio glanced at the prince in the backseat, and was rewarded with a nasty sneer. But he stayed silent and still, thank God, and Sergio relaxed slightly as the prince turned his head to glare out the window instead and he could have a closer look. It had been a while since he'd last seen the heir to the throne of Spain – on pictures in the tabloids as well as around the palace – and it struck him how different he looked. The trademark mane of golden hair was gone, shaved down to only a few millimetres. His skin was pale, the deathly pallor highlighted by the sharp light of the passing street lamps, stretched too tightly across his cheekbones. It gave him a haggard and torn look, and despite the expensive clothes, he didn't look like a prince at all. But then again, he'd always been a sickly child, rarely seen in public.

As if he'd heard his thoughts, the prince's eyes snapped back to him, and his gaze wandered to his bloodied nose. He gave a sharp jerk with his chin. “He gave you that?”

Sergio opened his mouth to reply, but a warning grunt from Martin made him snap it shut again. He glanced at the gun in his colleague's white-knuckled grip and – wait, he probably should stop referring to Martin as his colleague. Security guards who abducted members of the royal family were traitors. And traitors weren't colleagues. Those who dragged you into this mess with them even less so. Shit. He glanced back at the prince, but he'd turned back to watching the city fly by outside. Now that he thought about it, the boy – or man, rather, they were roughly the same age after all – was way too calm about his own abduction. Apart from the annoyed irritation he was radiating, it seemed like being kidnapped was nothing new to him, and seeing whose family he belonged to, it probably wasn't.

Sergio grit his teeth when all that thinking made his nose throb with pain again, and allowed himself a short moment of panic. Bloody hell. No one had ever thought about teaching the security guards that were watching the premises how to react to an abduction, how to stop it even, and right now, he found that was the biggest mistake their instructors had ever made. He blinked in confusion when he felt the car slowing down, and glanced over at Martin who looked ready to start shouting again, staring out the windshield at a red light coming up ahead. There were cars already waiting and Martin couldn't avoid bringing the car to a full stop.

His ex-colleague lifted the gun off his knee to keep them in check, and Sergio suddenly decided that now was the time to act. He lunged forward, diving for the weapon, yelling at the prince in the backseat. “Go!”

Over the sound of Martin's angry growling and their clothes rustling as they grappled for the gun in the confined space of the front seats, he heard the prince shouting back “It's locked!”, and that one split-second of distraction was all it took. Martin regained the grip on the handle and hit him with the barrel of the gun in an uncoordinated strike across the forehead. White spots exploded before Sergio's eyes, and there was so much yelling, and so much pain, and then everything stopped at once as he hit the car door, unconscious.

 

— † —

 

So, the game is on! Thank you very much for giving it a chance! I hope you're with me for the rest, too. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind words! It means the world to me!  
> And now: enter The Villain!

— † —

 

 

He'd been awake for a while now. A few minutes, at least. That much he knew. But he somehow couldn't manage the last step into consciousness, into being fully alert. The window was cold against his temple where he rested against it. There was blood in his mouth – had he bit his tongue? – and in his nose, and his head felt like someone had brought a hammer down on it. Which was almost true, he remembered now. Martin. The garage. The prince. The red light. _Christ._ It hadn't been a nightmare. 

 

The car suddenly came to a stop, the shaking abruptly ceasing, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief as he started slipping back under. The sound of a car door being slammed shut tore him out of it again, though, and he jumped up into a sitting position, his eyes snapping open. He immediately regretted it as the pain in his head increased tenfold and he clutched at his forehead, swearing under his breath. 

 

Now that he was finally awake, though, the haziness gradually retreated and he risked opening his eyes one by one, slowly. It was still dark outside, and in the cone of the headlights, he could see Martin crossing an empty parking lot to another waiting car. There were no signs of the city around, just a deserted road in the middle of a forest. His heart beat frantically against his ribcage as he tried to make sense of what was happening, but he didn't get far, because the man exiting the car to meet Martin was no stranger. _Thank God!_ Another bodyguard from Martin's team! If he could just remember the name!

 

“Hey,” he yelled as he pulled at the door handle. Locked. He lunged across the gear stick and repeatedly punched the horn. “In here!”

 

The agent only spared him a fleeting glance, then turned back to Martin who explained something with a lot of big and angry gestures, pointing at Sergio a few times as he talked. “What the...”

 

“Welcome to Being Abducted, Part One,” a voice chimed in from the back, and Sergio almost hit his battered nose on the headrest as he whipped around. The prince was lounging in the backseat as if he didn't have a care in the world, but his eyes were still angry and the grin he offered looked more like a grimace than a smile. 

 

Sergio turned back to the security agents, and it suddenly occurred to him that they were probably discussing whether they should kill him now or later. They didn't need him anyway, just the prince, and to top it all off, he knew them. _Lovely._ But at least everything made sense now. How Martin had managed to get to the prince and have him in the car by the time Sergio had just made it back to the palace, why there'd been no guards in the garage. The bastard had additional inside help. 

 

“Any idea what's going on here?”

 

But why drag him along, why risk getting recognized? And why the heck not the princess?! Even Martin couldn't have been so drunk that he couldn't tell the siblings apart! That just didn't make any sense! “I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I-”

 

“Oh, stop it! 'Your Highness' here, 'Your Highness' there,” the prince scoffed, and Sergio was hit by the sudden realization that there was one thing Martin didn't lie about. “Maybe we're both going to die, and wouldn't it be nice if you called me by my given name before we meet the maker?” 

 

He paused, giving Sergio time to reply, but the guard just shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. It wasn't like they were supposed to know how to talk to the royals. No one addressed the royals – they were to speak first, and if they didn't, you stayed silent (and it was probably wise to keep your mouth shut even if they did). Those were the rules, and after burning his fingers the first time, he was determined not to abandon them now.

 

“It's Fernando, in case you didn't know.”

 

Of course he knew. There wasn't a person in Spain who didn't know. But he didn't say that, just nodded, playing along. He had other things to worry about. His two ex-colleagues, for example, heading over to their car. Sergio glowered at Martin's accomplice through the windshield and the agent smiled right back, just like he would at a puppy he thought was cute. Maybe the puppy should show his teeth to let him know he wasn't to be knocked over so ea- _Gerard Piqué_. Sergio's frown smoothed out as he suddenly remembered. That was his name. 

 

Piqué unlocked the door and eased into the driver's seat, making sure Sergio and the prince had a clear view of the gun dangling casually from his fingers. “So... Sergio. How nice of you to play the hero. Didn't work out, though, did it?” He left a reply space as well, but Sergio wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He'd always won the staring contests he and his brother had staged as children. Piqué sniffed and made a show of being disappointed. “Okay. Suit yourself. This is an abduction, Your Highness-” He ignored the prince's challenging sneer and turned back to Sergio. “-in case you were wondering. And you, Sergio, are coming with us, to make sure the Highness plays nice. Alright?”

 

“I don't care one bit about him!”

 

“No?” Piqué gave the prince an icy smile and then raised the gun, slowly, until the barrel was only inches away from Sergio's temple. “Say that again, Your Highness, and I'll blow out his brains right here. If you don't care, that shouldn't be too hard, right?”

 

A few seconds of dead silence ticked by, and Sergio closed his eyes tightly as he held his breath. _Don't say it, don't say it._ He could hear the prince breathing hard in anger, but he indeed stayed silent, and Sergio could almost feel the glare he threw back at Piqué, who only chuckled in response. “Good. I'm glad we got that settled. Now, this is how it's gonna be done: Martin will get in the back and keep his gun trained on you, Your Highness, so no funny business. Sergio will stay in front here with me, and he'll keep his hands folded in his lap where I can see them. Do we all agree?”

 

Neither of them answered, but it didn't seem like Piqué had been expecting a reply. He just grinned and turned the keys in the ignition. “Perfect. I like agreement.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

He'd tried, he really had, but fifteen minutes into the car ride, and Sergio had already exhausted all possible escape routes. He'd tried to remember every action thriller he'd ever seen, how people had behaved when they were held in a car – and at gunpoint – against their will. He hadn't come up with anything other than simply grabbing the wheel and crashing the car. But just hoping he'd remain conscious and uninjured, and the prince as well... That may work in a Hollywood movie, but out here, none of them were bulletproof. He risked a glance at Piqué. The agent looked relaxed and content, humming under his breath, as though he were on his way to a particularly enjoyable vacation. 

 

Sergio turned his head to stare out the window at the endless rows of trees they were passing, swallowing down the 'bastard' that was threatening to slip out. After the panic of having a gun barrel pressed against his temple had faded, he was surprised to find he wasn't afraid. He'd always wanted to serve as a bodyguard for the royal family, and here he was, the only ally the prince had left. How ironic was that? But he knew, there was a reason why it was called bodyguard, and he was fully prepared to do whatever was needed to live up to that title. There wasn't much of a life of his own to defend. The prince, however, needed him now.

 

Speaking of which... The awkward tension thrumming in the silence of the car seemed to be getting to the prince who'd tried so hard to play it cool before. He was constantly shuffling around and Sergio could feel his knees bumping into the back of his seat in an unsteady rhythm. He was contemplating asking if he was feeling well, wary of calling attention to him, but then the nervous shifting grew into uncontrolled rocking back and forth, and Piqué finally took a long, assessing look at the prince through the rear-view mirror.

 

“Is there something you need, Your Highness?”

 

“Yeah.” His voice was shaking slightly, and Sergio had to actively refrain from turning in his seat to have a look at his face. “I need a smoke.”

 

Piqué raised an amused eyebrow. “Pardon?”

 

“A smoke, for fuck's sake! A cigarette, a joint, whatever you fuckers can spare. I don't have anything on me.”

 

Okay. The prince didn't seem to have any active survival sensors. That wouldn't make Sergio's task of keeping him alive and well any easier. _Great._ Piqué, however, didn't seem offended. He just heaved a deep sigh and pulled the car over. “Anything to keep you in good spirits, Your Highness. But not in the car.” He fished a small metal case from the inside pocket of his coat and unlocked the doors. “Martin will-”

 

He didn't get any further before the prince had kicked open the door and slammed it shut behind him. A shot ringing out in the back had Sergio's ears going deaf for a second and he instinctively cowered in his seat as the bullet glanced off the safety glass and embedded itself in the cushions where the prince had sat mere seconds before. Before he could recover, his own car door was ripped open and Piqué grabbed him by the elbow, hauling him out onto the freezing ground. 

 

“Fernando,” he shouted after the prince, almost blended already into the darkness of the forest undergrowth in his black clothes. “Will you be responsible?”

 

Sergio didn't have to ask for what. His heart plummeted into his stomach as Piqué forced him onto his knees, his gasping breath dissolving into small white clouds in the cold air. Dying for nothing hadn't been part of the plan! But Piqué wasn't intent on shooting him just yet, instead releasing two bullets into the night sky, the cracks echoing all around them in the silence.

 

The prince stumbled to a halt, looking back over his shoulder. Sergio couldn't make out the expression on his face, and for a few terrible seconds, he thought he would let him die to save his own skin. But then the heir turned around and slowly trudged back to them, eyes locked on the gun that had once again found its way to Sergio's temple. 

 

“That's a good boy. Now-” Piqué gestured to Martin who stepped forward to meet the prince and force him down onto his knees as well. “-we can't have a repeat of this mishap, so I'm gonna make it clear what will happen if you try that stunt again.”

 

He didn't give Sergio time to process the words, and the first blow to the back of his head came as a surprise. With a hoarse shout, he fell forward, his hands coming up to cradle his neck where pain was glowing like a beacon. He saw the second and third blow coming, managing to keep in the sounds of pain, but they were followed by a kick to his spine and he wasn't able to bite down on the groan that slipped out of his mouth. And yet, he didn't fight back. He knew the prince would suffer for it, and even though he was responsible for the beating he received, it was Sergio's task to protect him. 

 

That was the last coherent thought before the next blow split the skin above his eyebrow and he lost count after that.

 

Pulling his limbs inward, he covered his head with his arms, trying to keep the worst of the punches away from his face. His nose was bleeding again, sending pulses of agony through his muddled brain, and the world narrowed down to all the places where his body seemed to dissolve into liquid pain. The white spots in front of his eyes were gradually turning to black, but before he could give in, it suddenly stopped.

 

His sense of hearing seemed to be gone – maybe there was blood in his ears? – and he listened to the white noise filling his head as he felt his body being dragged back to the car and pushed into the passenger seat. The jostling in the dark made him sick and he slowly opened his eyes. The prince was still there, kneeling on the hard ground, bound hands hooked behind his neck, Martin pushing his gun into the back of his head. He couldn't keep in a weak cry when Piqué roughly pulled up his arms and cuffed his wrists to the handle above the window and he leant back against the headrest, trying to pull air into his battered lungs. As he closed his eyes again, finally slipping away, all he could see were the haunted eyes of the prince, shining in the dark with unshed tears.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you so much for staying with me! :)


	3. Chapter 3

— † —

 

 

He was drifting in and out of consciousness, but he didn't bother trying to stay awake. Nothing was happening, anyway. His body ached the same every time he woke up, and his skin felt like it was stretched across one big bruise. No one spoke a word. Not even the prince was snapping at someone, Piqué's intimidation technique working too well. The scenery outside the window didn't change, tree upon tree flying by, and for the first time, Sergio actually wondered where the hell they were going. He'd never been to a forest that large. Or maybe it wasn't that large and they were going round in circles to confuse the hostages? That didn't make any sense. Or maybe they weren't in Spain anymore? No. It was still the same dead of night, they couldn't have reached the border that quickly. 

 

“Gerard? Are you sure you didn't take a wrong turn somewhere...?”

 

The corner of Sergio's mouth pulled into a barely there smirk as he swallowed a taunting chuckle. Ha ha. If Piqué's annoyed groan was anything to go by, this wasn't the first time they were going through this argument. Maybe going round in circles after all. “I. Did. _Not!”_

 

“But shouldn't we have reached the airfield by now?”

 

Airfield. That didn't sound good. Sergio forced his eyes open, blinking through the crust in the corners of his eyes – and on the left side, dried blood – to find it was still dark outside. Huh. It had felt like he'd been caught in delirium for at least three days. 

 

“Ah, look who's awake,” Piqué said in mock surprise, and Sergio turned slowly, ignoring the flaming pain in his neck, to give him a murderous look. “Feeling better?”

 

Sergio followed his pointed look down to his hand resting on the steering wheel and to the knuckle-duster stretching across his fingers. The gleaming metal was covered in dark splotches, and Sergio immediately realized what it was. Blood. His own blood. The bastard hadn't even bothered to take it off, let alone clean it. He flicked his eyes back up to Piqué's smug face, but even though blazing wrath mingled with the pain in his veins, he neither moved nor spoke. It wasn't worth the hassle.

 

“Hmm, I thought so. You know, to be fair, I _was_ trying to be friendly, but you just _had_ to fuck it up, didn't you? I'm sorry, but you've got no one but yourself to blame.” Piqué gave an exaggerated sigh, as if he were delivering a lecture to his ill-mannered children, and took a casual look at his watch. “Well, seeing that we'll reach our destination soon, I think it's time to prepare you for the ride.” _Ride?_ “Both of you.”

 

The prince. Right. Sergio carefully turned in his seat to make sure he was still alive and in one piece and found he was, if chained to the handle above the window just like him. The prince was looking down into his lap, obviously trying hard to avoid eye contact, and Sergio exhaled softly, a short moment of relief washing over him. It seemed like he wouldn't be trying again to get them both killed in the near future. So far, so good. 

 

His eyes flickered over to where Martin was crouching in his seat, his hand still gripping the gun tightly. His former colleague was avoiding his gaze as well, but he obviously couldn't keep it up, because their eyes finally locked, and Sergio was surprised to find something like regret in there. He almost scoffed at that. _Too late, Martin._ But he caught himself just in time. That wasn't the right way to go about (re-)gaining allies. Instead, he gave Martin a small smile and shook his head, trying to convey the message 'I'm fine, don't worry'. 

 

“Martin?”

 

Piqué's voice seemed to break the spell, though, and Martin snapped his head back around to catch his warning glance in the rear-view mirror. “I'm gonna stop now and we'll continue just like we discussed, alright?”

 

Martin dropped his head like a dog that had just received a kick from its owner, and Sergio closed his eyes in disappointment. _What the hell have you become?_ He felt the car stop, but didn't open his eyes. Just a minute, he told himself, until the world stopped blurring around the edges. He could hear Piqué moving beside him – and then a hood slid over his head. His eyes snapped back open, but all he could see was pitch-black nothingness. 

 

“Hey!”

 

“What the fuck?!”

 

So the prince had received a similar treatment. Awesome. “What's going on?”

 

He could almost feel Piqué's self-satisfied grin before he heard it in his voice, and it made his skin crawl. “We're switching transport. Nothing to worry about. From now on, I don't want to hear a single word from either of you, or... well, I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?”

 

Again, neither of them gifted him with a reply as he started the car back up. Sergio was convinced he secretly loved it that way. Probably felt more powerful like that. But the level of spite Piqué was capable of wasn't important right then. The fact that they were blinding them _now_ , after the prince had seen where they'd been going all the way out to the forest... Like so many things on this involuntary trip, it didn't add up and it was driving him crazy. Hostages didn't get hoods unless their captors were intent on letting them go anyway, right? So why let them see only to take that away half way down the road? Those guys were either the smartest or dumbest kidnappers out there. Or worse, a dangerous combination of the two. 

 

His train of thought was interrupted by the car abruptly stopping again. Trying to slow down his breathing, he strained his ears so he wouldn't miss a sound. Piqué unlocking the car, both doors on the agents' side opening, closing. Then the door right behind him, muffled curses from the prince as he was dragged from the car. His own door clicking open, rough hands on his wrists, yanking open the handcuffs, snapping them back in place. He ruthlessly squashed the groan that threatened to spill as his stiff and aching shoulders ground around in their sockets, and let himself be pulled out of the car. 

 

The fresh air hit him like a punch to the head, and he stumbled even as his mind immediately became fully alert. All of a sudden, he could feel exactly what hurt how much and where, instead of an undefined mass of pain, and strangely enough, that made it so much worse. He could barely keep his footing despite the smooth ground (tarmac, that was tarmac beneath his feet!) as he was pushed forward by a hand on his shoulder, but he took solace in the fact that he could hear the prince tripping along right beside him. At least they weren't separated, whatever was going to happen now. 

 

“Gerard! Finally! You're late!” Wait, that voice was new. “So, that's them?”

 

Sergio winced when Piqué laughed loudly right next to his ear. “Yeah. Sorry, had some trouble on the way, but nothing that couldn't be sorted by a bit of gentle convincing.”

 

There was an answering grunt that clearly said 'whatever'. “Let's get going, the weather's gonna change soon! 'M not willing to risk my life for two low-life terrorists!”

 

_Terrorists?!_ Sergio almost opened his mouth to object, but then he remembered Piqué's warning and thought better of it. He felt himself being passed on to a different set of hands, and then he was pulled up over a metal ridge, his knees banging against the edge. He hissed in surprise, but whoever had his hands on him didn't care and just tossed him down onto the hard ground, all the air in his lungs leaving in a strangled 'whoosh' noise. Damn. Even harder ground than the frozen forest soil he'd been ground into.

 

Another body hit the floor right beside him with a similar breathy grunt, and he didn't have to guess who it was. The prince shuffled around until his bound hands brushed against Sergio's shoulder, his knuckles scraping along his collarbone. He froze, and for a moment, neither of them dared breathe. “I'm so sorry.” 

 

He didn't mean the shoulder knocking, Sergio knew. He shook his head before he realized the prince wouldn't be able to see it. “It's okay.”

 

“ _Okay?!_ You must be kidding me!”

 

Now he wanted to talk about it, of all times. Sergio was just about to tell him to be quiet when the floor beneath him suddenly started to shake. It was accompanied by a motor revving up, and then- Sergio's eyes opened wide behind the hood as he listened to the unmistakable sound of rotor blades speeding up above his head. A fucking _helicopter!_

 

He barely had time to register what that meant when the earth already fell away beneath and they were up in the air. Nimble fingers caught in his jacket, holding on painfully tight, and he turned his head towards the prince. “It's okay,” he repeated, even though he knew his stunned voice couldn't be heard over the roar of the rotors. “It's gonna be okay.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sergio wouldn't admit it out loud, but lying down was actually quite nice for a change. He'd been awake for... hell, since 6am yesterday. It should be 24 hours by now, at the very least. And being unconscious, he'd found (twice now), didn't qualify as sleeping. His aching limbs felt like lead as he gradually relaxed against the cold metal, bone-deep weariness spreading through his body. He'd had to suffer worse sleeping quarters, though. He blinked as unwanted memories suddenly sprang up like a Jack in the Box. Damn. What would his brother say if he could see him right now? A sudden longing to have René with him pressed down on his windpipe and he choked on the stale air behind his hood. His brother would know what to do.

 

But he wasn't here. He was on his own. Well, almost. The prince hadn't let go of his jacket the entire time, and Sergio could feel him shaking through his clenched up fingers. He debated covering his hands with his, just to let him know he was there with him, but he didn't dare. Piqué seemed like the type of guy to punish such acts of kindness with another bout of sadistic tendencies, and he wasn't eager on testing the limits of his now soft body. Maybe he should've done more to stay in shape. With a grunt, he raised his head from the floor and then let it fall back in frustration. Ridiculous thoughts like that weren't helping. You gotta work with what you got.

 

Right now, that wasn't much. He had a bruised body, he was hooded, hand-cuffed and barely awake, and then there was that skinny heir to the throne who teetered along on the brink between bitchy arrogance and helpless fear. Not much on the scale of defensive power, but it would have to do. First of all, he shouldn't wait for them to arrive wherever it was they were to arrive. There could be more agents waiting for them, and then they'd be hopelessly outnumbered (or rather even more so than they already were). And they could be separated after all, which was the worst case scenario. 

 

He raised his hands, as slowly as he could, towards the rim of his hood. He neither got a kick nor a sharp order in response, so maybe the coast was clear. Good. He reached the seam, curling his fingers around it, and- the helicopter, flying straight and smooth so far, abruptly lost a metre or two of height, and he felt his stomach lurch as his body seemed to be lifted for a split-second before being pressed against the floor even tighter than before. The prince's yelp of surprise could be heard even over the whirring of the rotors, but Sergio quickly suppressed the urge to soothe him. There mere more pressing matters at hand he had to attend to. 

 

He pushed up the hood, bunching it up across his forehead, and blinked against the sudden intrusion of light. Granted, it wasn't much, not as much as he'd expected, judging by his body clock, but... That train of thought trailed off as he looked up to the side window. The sky outside was dark alright, but it wasn't the dark of night. Black clouds were blocking the early morning sun, crowding close to the mountainside falling almost vertically down from the thunderheads. A storm. They were going to be hit by a storm. In the mountains. 

 

Pulling his gaze away from the spectacle, his eyes flickered around the interior of the helicopter. Piqué was in the front with the pilot, and judging by their tense shoulders and their flailing gestures, they were busy having an argument. Martin was cowering behind the operator's seat, shaking uncontrollably, his face a white mask of fear. Their eyes locked, and Sergio made a vague gesture of 'going down' and raised his eyebrows, trying to convey the question. It took a moment, but then Martin's frown of confusion bled away, and he shook his head, his skin even paler than before. 

 

They were not going to land.

 

“God help us,” he breathed, the words drowned out by a sudden clap of thunder. 

 

The prince abruptly let go of his jacket, ripping the hood away from his head. His squinting eyes immediately took in the situation outside the window, and when he looked at Sergio, the guard could see the panic mounting at an alarming rate. Movement increased at the edge of his vision, and they both turned to the cockpit where Piqué was threatening the pilot with his gun, probably screaming at him to stay in the air. Thunder rumbled again outside, the wind tearing at the doors of the helicopter, and Sergio knew they would all die if he didn't act now.

 

He struggled to his feet, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the handrails running along the roof, and pulled himself forward. He was just about to reach out and grab Piqué's arm when the helicopter was hit by a sudden blast of wind, taking an unexpected dive downward. Sergio couldn't hold on, his fingers slipping from the rail, and then he was tumbling into a free fall, hitting the back of Piqué's seat with a strangled grunt. 

 

Even over the howling wind, the rotors and the thunder, the shot could be heard loud and clear. Sergio forced his eyes open against the pain, only to have his worst fear confirmed. The pilot was hanging limply in his safety belt, blood dripping down the visible side of his face. Piqué immediately dropped the gun, reaching for the steering stick instead, but he was too slow. The metal around them creaked loudly as the helicopter tipped to the side and immediately fell into a downward spiral. 

 

Scratching noises tore his attention away from the gruesome sight. Sergio turned his head just in time to see the prince skidding across the floor towards him, and he instinctively uncurled both hands from the back of the seat to pull him up against him. And once again, the prince's dark eyes were the last thing he could remember, this time wide with deadly terror.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Welcome to the wild! I wonder who's going to survive the crash...? ;) Thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update, because a) barcabrony and darthenna asked nicely (thank you, sweethearts!), and b) today was an absolutely amazing day!

— † —

 

 

_Remember, Sese._

 

_Survive._

 

His eyes shot open, a seamless jump from blissful oblivion to piercing pain and freezing downpour, and he couldn't keep in a soft panicked noise. There was a shadow looming over him and he instantly jerked up his arms to defend himself. With his hands still locked in handcuffs, it didn't amount to more than a pathetic twitch, but the assailant seemed to guess his intention, because he quickly leant back, just in case his stiff limbs decided to obey all of a sudden.

 

“Sergio?”

 

All the tension bled from his muscles as he recognized the voice, and he blinked against the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes until he could make out their face, too. It indeed was the prince. No danger, his lagging mind helpfully supplied. “Y'r Highn'ss?”

 

“I told you not to call me that!”

 

“S'rry...”

 

The prince shook his head, but Sergio couldn't tell whether it was aimed at him. Yet when the prince spoke again, his voice was soft, almost apologetic. “Can you move?”

 

Sergio closed his eyes, listening to his body's complaining. Okay. Maybe he shouldn't think too hard about the amount of damage done, or the results might crush his fighting spirit. He could whine about it later – if he survived long enough. Moving was more important. He strained his muscles until he was rolling onto his side, cursing when his bruised ribs scraped against the cold rocks, and then pushed himself up into a sitting position. When he began swaying precariously from side to side, the prince caught hold of his shoulder, his fingers slipping on the wet leather before he got a grip.

 

“Broken anything?”

 

Instead of replying, Sergio simply leant away from the prince and unceremoniously dumped his dinner on the rocks, along with – ugh – too much clotted blood for his comfort. To his credit, the prince didn't even flinch, keeping his hold steady as he waited for him to regain his composure. Sergio dry heaved for a few seconds more, tremors wrecking his spine and bowing his body in half. When he was sure his stomach was empty, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and squinted at the prince through the heavy rain.

 

He was even paler than before, his lips turning blue from the chilly mountain air, while his face was littered with tiny scratches, and there was a gash above his left ear that was dripping a thin line of blood down his neck. Apart from that, he seemed to have pulled through the helicopter crash mostly unscathed. Bloody hell. Sergio couldn't believe they were _both_ still alive.

 

“What about the others?”

 

“I woke next to you and checked you first. You know the rest.” The prince shrugged and then carefully wrapped his fingers around his forearms to pull him up. “I guess we were both thrown from the wreck through one of the windows. Probably lucky.”

 

Sergio only nodded in reply, busy forcing down the sudden wave of nausea clawing at his throat as he swayed on his feet. When he finally raised his head to survey the extent of destruction spreading around them, he immediately wished he hadn't. This place seemed to have been a harmless meadow in its former life, but now it had turned to a black mess of torn metal, broken glass and splintered rotor blades, sticking out of the scorched earth like shattered swords. The air reeked of molten plastic and singed grass, half rotten and half sickly sweet, and if there had been anything left in his stomach, he knew he'd probably lose it right now. There were images in his head, tied to that terrible kind of smell, but he quickly pushed them to the back of his mind.

 

“Sergio?”

 

He took a deep breath. _Lead. You gotta lead now. Just like René._ “Survivors.” He gave a nod, as if to confirm his own order. “Search for survivors, and anything that might be useful to take with us.”

 

The prince returned the nod, a sharp jerk of his head, and slowly made his way across the wreckage. Sergio took a moment to look up at the sky. The dark clouds were still there, battering them with freezing rain, but there was no lightning, and rolls of thunder were only rumbling softly in the distance. Despite the realization that they had already ridden out the worst of the storm, panic threatened to seize his heart. They were in the middle of nowhere, an unscalable cliff on one side and the dark wall of trees on the other, without any means to orientate themselves, without food, without water, caged in an endless forest with a trigger-happy security agent and his ex-friend sidekick.

 

“I found one!”

 

Sergio quickly shook off those paralysing thoughts and limped over to the prince who was leaning over the ragged remains of the operator's seat. The body of the pilot lay just a few feet away, twisted in a way that meant he was definitely not breathing anymore, and Sergio pointedly avoided a closer look. The prince wasn't focused on the corpse, though. Half buried beneath the seat lay Martin, with his eyes shut tightly and his skin a stark white, even paler than it had been when Sergio saw him last.

 

“Dead?”

 

That single word almost took all his remaining strength away from him, and even though the prince shook his head, his wide and terrified eyes told him everything he needed to know. He reluctantly moved to kneel and the prince immediately took a step back to make room for him, his chest heaving with the effort it took not to give in to the gag reflex. When Sergio finally got a closer look at Martin, he knew why. Where the right side of his stomach was supposed to be, there was only the mangled metal frame of the seat, impaling him from just beneath the ribcage down to his hip, and Sergio closed his eyes for a second as his heart missed a beat, then two. _Jesus Christ._

 

“Martin,” he tried, clearing his throat when a sudden gust of wind took away his small voice. “Come on, mate.”

 

The muscles beneath his hand suddenly strained against his fingers as Martin took a deep and rattling breath, and Sergio immediately leant forward, pushing a few wet strands away from his face. “Martin! Can you hear me?!”

 

At first, there was no response. Sergio could feel the fever burning brightly beneath his freezing skin, though, which meant he was still alive. If barely. He kept running his hands along his hair, smoothing it back, tears gathering in his eyes. That silly idiot. _Why couldn't you be happy with what you had?_ Martin finally opened his eyes, just a fraction, his clouded gaze flickering from Sergio to the prince and back again, before his lips began to form words Sergio didn't understand.

 

“What?”

 

“Order,” Martin mumbled, his eyes falling shut as he put the last of his strength into speaking loud and clear. “It was an order...”

 

Sergio gently cradled his face, tipping it up as he leant in closer. “What do you mean, an order?”

 

But Martin had already stopped breathing, and even though his instincts told him it was unnecessary, Sergio felt his pulse just to be sure. Nothing. _God no..._ He closed his eyes, bowing his head to mutter a short prayer under his breath, but the tears didn't fall. Crying had never solved a single thing. There's nothing you can do, his mind whispered at him. Nothing but survive. You promised. You promised René.

 

_Survive_.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

The soft voice of the prince brought him back to his senses, and he took a deep breath before he reached into the pockets of Martin's parka. _Sorry, mate._ He couldn't suppress a sigh of relief when his fingers closed around a small key and a phone. His own too, thank God. _You're gonna save us after all._ He rocked back into a crouch and then stiffly pushed himself onto his feet. Ignoring the concerned look the prince was greeting him with, he reached out and wordlessly stuck the key into the lock of the handcuffs cradling his wrists.

 

The prince rubbed at the bruised skin when the bracelets finally fell away and then returned the favour. “What now?”

 

Sergio looked out over the wreckage, trying to get his racing heart back under control. _Survive._ “We find Piqué. Need to know if he's dead.” He held up a hand when the prince turned away from him. “This time, we won't split up.”

 

The prince raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. Sergio had the feeling he was secretly relieved, though, that he didn't have to go body-hunting on his own anymore. Potentially (or rather preferably) corpse-hunting. But Sergio knew from experience: if anything, accidents like that usually made those kind of assholes even stronger. Karma didn't seem to have any effect on those people. But either way, they had to make sure.

 

As they rummaged through the field of destruction, there was no sign of Piqué to be found, neither his gun nor his body (nor anything useful, for that matter, not even a first aid kit). In the end, there was only a huge piece of scrap left on the far end, closest to the cliff. It looked like it used to be part of the rear end, the bent shape of the tail sticking up into the air.

 

It was empty.

 

Sergio stared into the small metal cave the ruins had created, suddenly at a complete loss. Piqué had to be here. He _had_ to be. If he were dead, they would've found the body. If he were alive but unconscious, same result. If he were alive and conscious, he would have either shot them or attempted to recapture them already. Since neither of those options had occurred, there had to be another scenario he was completely missing. He turned to the dark mass of the forest, and tried to make out anything beyond the first few rows of trees. If the agent was hiding there, aiming for their heads, they wouldn't even know.

 

There was a strange noise right next him, a quick inhale of breath. Sergio turned to the prince with a questioning look, and the heir slowly raised a hand to point a finger at the scorched grass surrounding the cave. There was a foot sticking out from behind the wreck. A foot clad in expensive leather shoes. Signalling for the prince to stay back, Sergio crept forward silently, peering around the edge – and there he was. Still attached to the foot, and still attached to the seat. His gun had somehow found its way back to him, like a loyal dog, resting next to him in the blackened grass.

 

Agent Piqué didn't really look alive.

 

He rather seemed to have been trapped in the flames that had surrounded the remains of the rear, now gone cold in the steady fall of rain. His left sleeve was gone, jacket and dress shirt alike, as well as half of the security belt he'd obviously been caught in. The skin was painted an angry red, burns crossing the bare muscles in uneven patterns, just like the left side of his face. To Sergio, he seemed sufficiently dead, but he knew he couldn't leave without checking first.

 

The prince was faster than him, though. Before Sergio could even raise a hand to feel for the pulse, he had rounded him with two quick steps and kicked Piqué in the shin. Hard. “Fucker!”

 

Sergio held his breath and watched as the agent's head lolled to the side, his lifeless body straining against the remaining half of the seatbelt. When there seemed to be no movement, he whipped around to glare at the prince. “What was that for?”

 

The prince shrugged, his angry eyes trained on his kidnapper. “He deserved it.”

 

“He's already _dead.”_ He turned away, shaking his head at the prince's childish tone. If that wasn't punishment enough...

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

The prince grabbed him by the elbow, forcing him back around. “No,” he repeated, his voice a hollow whisper. “He's not.”

 

Sergio had just enough time to realize Piqué's eyes were indeed wide open, darting around the meadow for a moment, before his piercing gaze came to rest on him and the prince. “Ah,” he rasped, a pained smile pulling at his burnt mouth. “Look who we have here.”

 

He struggled to sit up, his arms flailing about as he sought for balance, but he paused when his fingers brushed against the handle of the gun. Piqué frowned in confusion, looking down to check what it was, and Sergio immediately realized there was no way he would reach the weapon first. He didn't wait for the agent to come to the same conclusion, though. Digging his fingers into the prince's shoulder, he tore him around and forced him into a run towards the forest. He barely registered the faint cursing behind him, focused on _not tripping_ as several shots rang out behind them, the bullets missing them only by inches.

 

They didn't stop when they reached the treeline, and they didn't stop either when Piqué's angry shouts had long since faded into silence. They pushed on through the forest regardless, pulling each other over fallen trees and holes in the ground, constantly looking back over their shoulders. It was still raining when they finally stumbled to a halt, but the sun was already peeking out from behind the grey clouds. Sergio's legs folded beneath him without warning, knees sinking into the soft forest ground as he fought for breath.

 

“I can't go on,” the prince ground out, fingers pressed tightly against his ribcage. “I can't.”

 

Sergio, however, didn't object. He was already fast asleep.

 

 

— † —

 

 

So... the action intro is over, the current count is: one man down, another to go. 

Next up: Fernando and Sergio form a partnership of convenience. Begrudgingly, though.

Thank you very much for reading! 


	5. Chapter 5

— † —

 

 

It was the insistent grumbling of his empty stomach that woke him up. Of all things. Grimacing, he absently rubbed soothing circles into his belly to distract himself from the uncomfortable pull of hunger as he stared up at the roof of leaves above his head. The prince must've dragged him out of plain sight and into this natural shelter of young trees and undergrowth. Seemed like some survival sensors had gone online again. The awkward position he'd fallen into next to Sergio indicated he'd even attempted to keep watch, but fell asleep half way through. Sergio couldn't blame him. They sure as hell had needed the rest. 

 

He pushed himself up into a tailor seat, groaning softly. _Hot damn._ He knew he should be glad he had pulled through being beat up, crashing with a helicopter and escaping through uneven forest ground without suffering any major injuries (his nose wasn't important – he could walk with his nose broken, and besides, it had happened before), but he couldn't enjoy that fact because it felt like his whole body was one big bloody mess. Shrugging out of his leather jacket (and seriously, there were more aching muscles than he thought he _had_ ), he checked his skin for gashes and burns, but he found nothing but bruises of varying colour, some black, some blue, and some in between. The rain had washed away most of the blood on his face, and he used his soiled and still soaking shirt to rub off the rest, careful not to put too much pressure on his nose. 

 

A sudden ray of light had him narrowing his eyes. The sun was coming out, littering the ground with patterns of bright spots where early autumn had already torn down the leaves, but even though the temperature had taken an upward leap, a shiver ran down his spine as a sudden gust of wind swept through their hiding place. They had to get out of their drenched clothes or they would surely catch a nasty cold. He looked down at the prince, his always tense features smoothed out in sleep, and he pondered letting him rest for a while longer. But no, avoiding a fever was the most important task right now.

 

He leant over to rouse him, but his fingertips had barely touched his shoulder when the prince shot up with a strangled yell, his wild eyes darting around in panic. Sergio remembered that look, remembered his shaking fingers clutching his jacket in the helicopter, and he finally dared squeezing his shoulder in comfort. “It's okay. You're safe. It's just m-”

 

“What the fuck?!” The prince pushed off his hand and quickly drew back out of reach. “Stop touching me!”

 

Bewildered, Sergio pulled back. What the- “I'm sorry,” he finally managed, and then remembered his manners. “Your Highness.”

 

The prince huffed out an angry, humourless laugh. “You're hopeless.” He struggled onto his knees, gasping when the muscle aches obviously made themselves known, and shot him an annoyed glare. “What was it you wanted?”

 

Sergio swallowed down what he'd really like to say – _ungrateful little shit_ – and stuck to his original plan instead. “We should get out of the wet clothes, let them dry in the sun, or we're gonna catch pneumonia.”

 

“As if!” The prince struggled to his feet, cursing when he hit his head on a low branch. “Like hell I'm gonna take off my clothes! And you will keep your hands to yourself, got it?”

 

“I did not-” Sergio cut himself off when the prince stormed out of their hiding place. As he picked up his jacket and jumped up to race after him, he wondered how he was supposed to keep him safe when the spoilt prat proved to be a ticking time bomb all by himself. He took a quick look around, but they seemed to be on their own.

 

“Please,” he whispered, keeping a watchful eye on the forest. “We have to be careful, Your Highness.”

 

The prince continued on his warpath for a moment longer, and Sergio noticed the weird jittery way he was moving. It reminded him of the situation in the car, just before the prince had decided to make a bolt for it, and his next words confirmed that suspicion. “I will listen if you start using my _name_. And if you have a cigarette on you. Or alcohol.” He paused, hands flitting about in a vague dismissive wave. “That would work too. But I guess even a superhero like you doesn't have that stashed down his trousers.”

 

Sergio narrowed his eyes, but didn't take the bait. Instead, he raised his hands and hoped for the best. “All I'm saying is that we should be careful. Piqué might have other helpers we don't know about.”

 

The prince turned around, crossing his arms and rocking back and forth on his heels. “So what do you suggest, McClane?” 

 

Deep breaths, Sergio. You're supposed to keep him alive. “We have to try and find water first, and maybe a road if we're lucky.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and found his suspicions confirmed. No reception whatsoever. “I have no idea where we are-”

 

“I think I do.” Sergio raised an eyebrow at him and the prince reluctantly elaborated. “You may have heard about the new National Park that's gonna open in two weeks? When you were out, we left the city southwards, and I've seen a few billboards on the way. The roads are still blocked to the public, obviously, so they flew us in.”

 

The National Park. Of course he'd heard about it. Martin couldn't stop talking about it, about how he would take a long-overdue vacation once it was open and go hiking there. Martin. Sergio closed his eyes as he was suddenly overcome with the grief he had suppressed up on the meadow. Passionate, funny, stupid Martin. Sergio didn't know what had driven his friend to betray his oath to protect the royal family, but he certainly didn't deserve to die for it in such a gruesome way. Maybe if he'd managed to talk him out of it at the red light instead of attacking him right away-

 

“Hey! You okay?”

 

He looked up at the prince who returned his gaze with something akin to sympathy. “I just- The agent that died up there, he was my friend.”

 

The sympathy was immediately wiped from the prince's face, his whole body tensing up. _Well done, Sergio._ “What do you mean, that pathetic wannabe-gangster was your friend?” He took a step back. “Are you one of them?”

 

Sergio grit his teeth, drawing his fingers into tight fists, and counted to ten in his head. “I'm _not_ one of them. As you may have noticed, I've been risking my life to help you!”

 

“I didn't ask you to! Who the fuck are you anyway?!”

 

“The only one who's not out to kill you, I bet.”

 

The prince looked him up and down, mockingly assessing his battered body. “Yeah. And how lucky I am to have you.”

 

He immediately turned around and forced his way through the undergrowth, so he – thankfully – didn't catch the murderous glare Sergio was aiming at his back. Now that he thought about it, maybe he knew what had driven Martin to take revenge on a member of the royal family. If all of them were like that, maybe he should reconsider his decision to sign up for bodyguard duty – as soon as they'd made it out of this blasted forest. He couldn't wait to finally dump the prince into much more capable hands and get on with his own life. Preferably without anyone shooting at him. And preferably without the prince in it.

 

 

— † —

 

 

They probably would have continued like this all day – the prince walking in front without looking back once, alternating between hugging his body and those small nervous moves, mumbling to himself from time to time, and Sergio trudging along, glaring at his back – if the prince hadn't decided to take a look down a mossy ridge. One moment, he was peering down, and the next, he was wobbling on the spot, his arms shooting out to regain his balance. Sergio rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to call him back, but he forgot whatever it was he was going to say when the rain-sodden mud beneath the prince's feet suddenly gave way and he tripped over the edge with a startled yell.

 

“Fernando!”

 

Sergio forced his uncoorperative muscles to move and rushed up to the ridge, easing himself down onto his knees and peeking down into the small gully. He needn't have worried. The prince was lying flat on his back on the shore of a narrow brook, but it didn't look like he had suffered any injuries. His eyes were open and he was giving him a crooked smile. “I found water.”

 

He was obviously fine. Sergio huffed out the breath he'd been holding and carefully pushed himself over the ridge, half-climbing and half-sliding down the rocky slope. He wordlessly offered his hand to the prince who thankfully refrained from any sassy digs, accepting it with a nod instead. Even though the sun had already passed the zenith and the air was pleasantly warm, the water itself was icy cold. Neither of them cared as they satisfied their thirst and washed their faces and hands. They didn't talk, either, and yet it seemed like they had agreed on a break somehow, because none of them moved when they were finished, just sitting on the shore and staring down into the flowing water. 

 

“It's the first time you called me Fernando.”

 

Sergio just shrugged, unwilling to answer, but one look at the prince's hopeful face had his resolve weakening considerably. “Didn't think about it.”

 

The prince – Fernando – cleared his throat, and Sergio prepared himself for anything from biting remarks to- “I'm sorry.” Anything but that. “Really. I'm sorry about... most things I've said to you.” Sergio quickly looked up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and that seemed to break the dams, because the prince rushed into a nervous ramble. “I know you chose to stay and help me even though you had the chance to hightail it out of there, and I want you to know that I _am_ grateful. I haven't had the best time lately, and it's getting to me. I just... I can't control it. Sorry.” He gave a watery laugh and started rocking back and forth again, eyes trained on the water. “It's pathetic, isn't it?”

 

Sergio regarded him closely, taking a deep breath before he answered. He knew he had to tread carefully now. “No.” He hesitated for a moment, but then decided he should ask. It might be essential. “Anything I need to know?”

 

The prince quickly shook his head, pulling his arms tighter around his chest, and Sergio knew he wouldn't get more out of him, so he stood with a deep sigh and again offered his hand. “We should get going.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

They continued on in silence, but this time, it was different from the icy and uncomfortable kind they had been keeping up before. It wasn't exactly cordial, either, more like an intense focus on walking and saving strength. They had decided to follow the brook down the mountainside, but apart from the way steadily leading downwards, the scenery didn't change. There were trees, surrounded by shrubbery and broken dead wood and rocks, and the occasional clearing. The only paths they came across were dirt tracks wild animals were using, randomly crossing the small stream. Unfortunately, there was neither a road nor any other signs of civilization to be found. 

 

In the beginning, they had kept looking back over the shoulders from time to time, but the forest lay still and quiet around them, only the wind ruffling the leaves above and animals scurrying away when they approached. Apart from that, there was nothing to be heard or seen, and they soon stopped keeping watch, concentrated only on not stumbling and keeping up the walking rhythm they'd fallen into. 

 

It was only hours later, when dusk had already set in, painting the air an eerie blue, that Fernando started mumbling again, his shoulders tensing and relaxing in a weird irregular pattern. At first, Sergio didn't pay attention. It simply wasn't his business what he had to say to himself. But when the prince started slowing down, his head dipping forward in exhaustion, he began to worry.

 

“Fernando?”

 

There was no reaction, and Sergio cautiously stepped closer and slowly brought a hand up to stop him in his tracks. He made sure to keep it in Fernando's line of sight, lest he provoke another outburst of indignant shouting. The precaution was unnecessary, though, because the prince didn't seem to be aware of his presence to begin with. He didn't even twitch, let alone look up when Sergio pulled him to a halt, reaching up to feel his forehead. It wasn't burning up with a fever, as he'd expected, but covered in a thin sheen of sweat instead, the skin beneath suspiciously cool. 

 

“Fernando, can you hear me?”

 

No answer. Instead, the prince started mumbling again, his head growing heavy against Sergio's hand. “Shit, I can't take it. I can't. Please! I need... I need-”

 

Sergio frowned – _what the hell?!_ – and decided to try again. “What is it you need? Fernando?”

 

All of a sudden, the prince's knees gave way and Sergio thanked God for his quick reflexes as he caught Fernando around the waist and pulled one arm across his shoulders before he could crumble down to the ground. Compared to what he had expected, he weighed _nothing._ It seemed like the clothes were even thicker – and the prince even thinner – than he'd thought. Shaking his head to get rid of that unnecessary piece of burden, he pulled Fernando tighter against him and walked on. The prince had stopped talking altogether, but he wasn't unconscious, at least not yet, stumbling along with the last remains of strength he possessed.

 

It was growing dark ever faster, and considering Fernando's condition, Sergio knew they had to find shelter for the night, and soon. The prospect of spending a chilly autumn night outside, along with an obviously sick prince, let his mood drop to a new low as he- The brook was gone. Sergio stopped abruptly, eyes blinking from confusion and exhaustion. He leant forward to get a closer look. No, the brook was still there, disappearing behind a brick wall and continuing its way in an artificial river bed, definitely made by humans. 

 

Egged on by a renewed bout of energy, Sergio followed the irrigation canal out into a clearing, and he almost cried out in relief when he caught sight of a small summer cottage, sitting right in the middle, almost glowing white in the rapidly setting dusk. There were no lights on and no car was parked out in the driveway. Of course, the park wasn't even open yet! Giddy with the luck they were having, he couldn't hold back a soft laugh.

 

“It's gonna be okay, Fernando. You can lie down soon, I promise. Just a few more steps.”

 

Fernando didn't react, not even when Sergio set him down on the bench next to the front door and went round the back to find a way in. There was a large meadow behind the house and a tool shed at the far end, chopped wood stacked up neatly against it. Perfect. He only had to kick at the door twice before it carved in, and he used the flashlight on his phone to retrieve an axe and a hammer. The door leading out onto the patio proved to be a tougher opponent, but he somehow managed to wedge the axe in between the frame and the door. One, two, three hits, and the lock gave way. 

 

Fernando was barely conscious when he came back, and he had to pick him up into his arms, carrying him into the house and through to the living room where he carefully laid him down on the couch. “I'm gonna check for power and water, but I'll be back in a few, okay?”

 

There was no answer.

 

The fuse-box was easy enough, the cheap padlock cracked open in a few seconds, but finding the spigot was a more difficult task. He'd searched every room in the house twice before he found it, hidden in a supply closet of all things, and he let loose a hearty curse when he wrenched it open. At least he now knew the house pretty well already. 

 

It was a simple affair: living room and kitchen downstairs, bedroom and bathroom upstairs. The rooms were pretty big, though, and whoever owned the house certainly owned a huge amount of money too, because the furniture definitely wasn't as cheap as the padlock. When he finally returned to Fernando, the prince was shaking slightly, but his eyes were open and focused, if a little glassy. 

 

“Food first? I found some soup cans in the pantry.”

 

To be honest, the amount of soup cans he'd found was pretty ridiculous, but who was he to complain if the owner wanted to be prepared (and liked soup, obviously) and they didn't have to go hungry for another day? As he waited for the soup to heat up, he checked the rest of the cupboards and found an equally ridiculous amount of medicine, hastily dumped in next to the dinner plates. There were many names he didn't know, and some antidepressants he recognized and quickly shoved back into the cupboard, but he decided it wasn't his business either as soon as his hand closed around a can of Nurofen painkillers at the bottom of the pile. Exactly what he'd been hoping to find.

 

Fernando was conscious enough to sit up without falling over again, but he couldn't raise the spoon without shaking all over place. He refused to be fed, though, and rather watched Sergio eat in grumpy silence until the soup had cooled down enough so he could drink it (only with a little help from Sergio).

 

“Here.” Sergio held up a Nurofen pill. “Look what I found. I think that might help settle you down a bit.”

 

He might not have expected a thank you, but Fernando's reaction certainly came as a shock. The prince shot up from the couch as if he'd been bitten, quickly stepping back without taking his eyes off Sergio until the coffee table stood between them. Great. Now they were back to _that._

 

“No pills,” Fernando growled, raising an accusing finger. “No fucking pills! I need-”

 

He abruptly trailed off, and Sergio held up his hands in surrender, dropping the pill into the remains of the soup where it dissolved with a soft hiss. “Okay, no pills. I swear. See, it's gone.” He moved to stand, but Fernando's whole body instantly tensed up, so he nodded instead and sank back down onto his haunches. “Alright. It's fine. I'm not doing anything, okay? But tell me, what is it you need? A cigarette, yeah?”

 

Fernando stared at him for a second, his eyes flickering over his face. Sergio didn't know what he was searching for, but he tried to keep as still as possible anyway, calmly returning his gaze. “Yeah.”

 

If there was anything Sergio had learned when he was a kid, it was to spot a lie from an addict who tried to convince you he wasn't addicted. And all of a sudden, the surreal situation suddenly made sense. The jittery movements, the mumbling, the weak circulation, the mood swings, the refusal to take off his clothes, and most importantly, the craving for cigarettes, alcohol, _anything_ to stop the burning need – and Sergio _didn't see it!_

 

A sudden wave of anger burst through his veins, but it wasn't directed at the prince. Rather, it was directed at himself, because he should've known better, should've been able to read the signs. Forgotten images were darting across his mind at a mad pace, the familiar pain blooming in his chest, but Sergio ruthlessly pushed it back. Not the time, _not the time!_ His inner battle must've shown on his face, because Fernando suddenly took another step back, his body curling inward in defence. 

 

Sergio forced himself to take a deep breath as he stood, slowly rounding the coffee table with his hands held wide out. “What is it?”

 

Fernando sneered in response to his aggressive tone and raised his hands as if he were expecting a physical attack any second now. “What is what?”

 

Sergio didn't reply. The prince was already swaying on the spot, his strength draining quickly, and when his knees finally buckled, he was ready. He jumped forward to catch him and pulled him into his chest with one hand as he brought them both down to the ground, pushing Fernando's right sleeve up with the other. There was nothing. The skin on the inside of his elbow was smooth and pale. No puncture wounds, no bruises. But there was something else. Something that made his stomach churn just as badly as he leant in closer, ignoring Fernando's feeble attempts to free himself. 

 

Instead of holes in his skin, torn from a needle, there were old slash marks, at least a dozen of them, standing out as white lines crossing his skin from the wrist up to the elbow. _Oh God._ Sergio stared down at the scars, unable to think for a change, his thumb absently tracing one of the marks. Fernando's struggling immediately ceased, breaking down into tremors instead, and it took Sergio a moment to realize he was crying. He tried to draw back, shocked into silence by his own cruelty, but Fernando quickly curled his fingers around the fabric of his shirt and didn't let go. 

 

So Sergio slowly shuffled back until he could lean against the coffee table, pulling the prince closer up against him, his hands moving around his waist and holding on tight. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, and it seemed like those words broke the spell and all of a sudden, he couldn't stop talking. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

 

Fernando didn't reply, his whole body shaking with sobs that threatened to tear him apart, and it seemed like Sergio was the only thing holding him together. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Fernando's head, and if a few tears of his own forced their way out along the way, no one needed to know.

 

 

— † —

 

 

He still couldn't believe what he'd done even an hour later, as he sat in an armchair in the dark of the bedroom, staring up at the black ceiling. Ever since he'd been a small child, he'd found he could think best whenever it was dark, whenever the world narrowed down to his breathing and whatever problem needed solving. His brother had laughed at him and teased him mercilessly, but he'd never switched on the light in their shared room when he knew Sergio was thinking. 

 

René.

 

He rubbed his chest when the familiar longing stirred deep in his chest. Even after all these years, he still moved to turn to his brother for guidance before he realized he wasn't there, that he was on his own. René wouldn't have jumped on the prince, tackling him roughly to the floor and trying to rip a secret out of him. He'd have offered comfort first, a few calm words in his deep pleasant voice, before he'd have asked, _politely_. Maybe Fernando would've offered freely instead of being bullied into confession. They'd just begun to get used to one another, just begun to trust. And he had destroyed it all with a single blowing of a fuse.

 

_I'm sorry, brother. I'm gonna make it up._

 

“Sergio?”

 

He almost jumped when Fernando's voice drifted in from the bathroom and hastily sat up. “Yeah...?”

 

There was no answer, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to take the silence as an invitation. He got up and padded over to the bathroom door, knocking once before slowly pushing it open. Even though Fernando had refused to switch on the bright ceiling light, opting for a single candle instead, the dim light made his eyes water and he blinked a few times before he could make out Fernando in the bathtub. He quickly averted his gaze, even though the prince had found some kind of soap or bath additive in one of the cupboards to cover himself up.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

There was a pause, but this time, Sergio waited patiently for Fernando to get his thoughts in order. “Can I... talk to you for a second?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Come sit with me?”

 

Sergio nodded, closing the door behind him and walking over, keeping his eyes on the floor until he had settled in a tailor seat next to the bathtub. Only then did he finally look up at the prince, wincing when he caught sight of his red-rimmed eyes. Exhaustion was edged into every line of his face, and the flickering candle light made him look much older and much more fragile, the shadows highlighting the sharp angles of his face. The prince studied him in turn, his dark eyes taking in the different shades of bruises littering his face, the slightly crooked line of his nose. 

 

“Here,” Fernando suddenly said in a clear voice that wasn't shaking at all. He raised his arm from the warm water and rested it on the edge, palm facing the ceiling. “No,” he added softly when Sergio quickly looked away. “No. Please.”

 

Even though everything in him resisted being reminded of his mistake, he couldn't refuse. So he raised his eyes until he could clearly make out the scars lining Fernando's skin, protruding slightly from the muscles. The prince traced the lines with his fingertips, and it looked like a movement practised many many times over the years, ingrained into his being like breathing and sleeping. 

 

“I started when I was thirteen. I visited the cook for an extra dessert, and there was this knife, shiny and sharp. It was just lying there and when he turned his back, I took it without thinking. It was only months later that I remembered I still had it.” Fernando faltered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. “I was scared shitless, but I needed to know how it felt so badly. So I finally pushed myself to do it.” There was a dreamy look in his eyes, and Sergio had to avoid his gaze after all as bitter bile rose in his throat. “It felt like... I hadn't even been alive before I did it. I started wearing long sleeves even in summer, insisted I didn't need any help with bathing. But-”

 

He trailed off again as Sergio raised a hand, almost as if pulled by a string, until his fingertips were hovering above Fernando's exposed skin. Their eyes locked, Sergio asking silently for permission and Fernando giving it without a moment's hesitation. The prince closed his eyes when he could feel Sergio's fingers slowly tracing the scars, one by one, working his way down to his wrist. There he hesitated for a second, before he continued on his way, his hand wrapping around Fernando's palm, tightening gently until he could feel the heat from his bath-warmed skin expanding into his own. 

 

“But I realized eventually, _years_ later, that nothing had changed. That it didn't make my life any better. So I quit.”

 

“What-” Sergio stopped himself before he could recreate the gulf between them, but Fernando opened his eyes to regard him calmly, his fingers squeezing his hand in reassurance. So he continued. “What was it you wanted to make better?”

 

Fernando's head dropped back against the edge of the bathtub as he thought about his answer. “When I was a child, I didn't realize something was wrong with me. That there was something that needed curing. I just thought everyone else was acting funny.” He paused again, a distracted smile pulling at his lips as he watched a memory from the darkest corner of his mind, and Sergio knew with a sudden conviction that Fernando had never actually told this story before. Never told anyone, but practised the words he would use in his head probably a hundred times. “One of the few things I remember from before is that my parents had a terrible argument. There was a lot of shouting involved, things breaking, and I still see my father sitting there in his favourite armchair. My mother was long gone, and he... he just sat there, crying.” He turned back to Sergio, his eyes caught in the terror of that moment. “The next day, the doctors came. And the pills.”

 

Sergio closed his eyes as he suddenly felt sick to the bones. “I'm so sorry.”

 

“It's fine.”

 

“If I had known-”

 

“It's fine,” Fernando repeated more firmly, his voice wavering, fraying at the edges, and Sergio quickly opened his eyes, nodding for him to continue before it was too late and he couldn't go on. “I was basically a living corpse. You know, I never got to meet people. It was only ever private tutoring, and the odd banquet when I wasn't 'too sick to attend'.” 

 

He mimicked the high voice of a woman, his eyes clouding over with an ugly expression of intense resentment. Sergio looked down at their joint hands, gathering the courage to ask. “The Queen... Why would she do this to you? Why would your own mother keep you drugged and caged?”

 

“Because she isn't my mother.”

 

Sergio reared back so fast he almost let go of Fernando's hand. “What?!”

 

Fernando, however, didn't seem fazed at all. “She doesn't know I know. That argument I told you about? She was talking about his betrayal, about her own baby that died at birth, about the death of my real mother. Back then, I was too small to realize what that meant. But somehow, I always knew. There was never any love lost between us. It only got worse when my father died.” His mouth pulled into a smile, but it was dark and crooked. “I guess she never forgave me for his mistake. But she did what she had to do to save face. Unfortunately, I wasn't the child she was hoping for.”

 

Inside, Sergio was reeling with all he had learned in such a short amount of time, but he didn't let it show. “What was it the doctors were treating?”

 

“Hell if I know. Maybe a personality disorder? Maybe a strong inclination to being my own person, with no regards to any protocol? Probably both?” Fernando laughed softly, derisively. “I was too young when it started and when the pills had finally taken over... my brain was basically on hold. I think I convinced myself I was too sick to do anything but swallow more pills.”

 

“And only your- the Queen knew?”

 

“Yeah. About two years ago, I forgot to take the pills once, and all of a sudden, there were memories I didn't have before. So I skipped more and more until I could remember. I basically remembered _who I was_. Since then, it's been one big battle with my mother, me trying to escape the prisons – both the mental and the physical – and her rebuilding them.”

 

Sergio narrowed his eyes as he suddenly saw the puzzle pieces coming together. “Therefore the signs of withdrawal.”

 

“Yeah. Jumping back and forth between taking and not taking the pills tends to mess up my head pretty badly.”

 

There was a vague feeling of dread spreading in Sergio's stomach, but he didn't know why. “Do you know the name?”

 

“Uh...” Fernando exhaled slowly, frowning as he tried to remember. “Fentanyl, I think. Yeah. And Clonidine.”

 

_ No way.  _

 

Sergio ripped his hand out of Fernando's hold, jumping up onto his feet. He ignored the whiplash and the stinging in his calves from sitting on the tiles for too long, and rushed through the bedroom into the hall and down the stairs. Hitting the lights with a bit more force than necessary, he burst into the kitchen, tearing open the cupboard that held the medicine and pouring them out onto the counter. There. Fentanyl. Clonidine. 

 

He didn't react to Fernando shouting his name upstairs, running instead to check the patio door he'd cracked open earlier. In his haste to get Fernando inside, he hadn't thought to look for a silent alarm, but- He should have. He definitely should have. If he'd known it was there, he wouldn't have brought Fernando into the house that had been  _prepared to hold him hostage!_

 

He roughly pulled his hands through his hair as his breath caught in his chest.  _God. Stupid! Stupid!_ But there was still time to run, if they left right now. He whipped around to race back up the stairs, opening his mouth to call for Fernando, but he didn't get to do either.

 

“Stop!”

 

Sergio froze, hands automatically rising. He slowly turned, looking back over his shoulder, and came face to face with a loaded gun.

 

 

— † —

 

 

The boys finally got to talk, but the hunt is still on. As always, many thanks for reading! 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry I'm late. Real life, you know. And second of all, much love to Lu for being such an amazing friend! Thank you so much for your dedication to this story! <3

— † —

 

 

The guy holding the gun was unexpectedly tiny, but Sergio knew that the short ones usually relied on a vicious streak in order to survive a fight – and besides, even a child could kill you with a gun. He was wearing the typical suit of a security agent, all black and plain, but his brilliant blue eyes were a stunning contrast. There was a bright intelligence lurking in there, as well as the promise that he'd pull the trigger without hesitation. Sergio raised his hands a little higher, trying to look as inoffensive as possible. 

 

The agent narrowed his eyes, probably pondering the pros and cons of simply shooting him, but before he could decide, there were footsteps upstairs and his gaze and his gun immediately whipped over to the stairs. “Hey,” Sergio said, softly, and took a step to the side so he was blocking the line of fire. “No danger up there. You can keep your gun on me, yeah?”

 

“Jesse!”

 

Sergio couldn't avoid starting in surprise, forgetting about the gun for a second as he turned around to look at Fernando, clad only in shorts and shirt. The wet spots on the fabric showed he didn't even take the time to dry off, but before Sergio could regain his composure and tell him to go back upstairs, the prince had bounded down the rest of the steps to cross the living room in a few flying steps before pulling the agent into a tight embrace. The stranger returned the hug with his free arm, but kept the gun raised, watching Sergio closely over Fernando's shoulder.

 

“Hey, Fernando.”

 

“But how-” Fernando suddenly took a step back, instinctively drawing nearer to Sergio. “You aren't in on this shit, are you?”

 

“Yes and no.” He held up a hand before either of them could interrupt. “I'm only part of this so I could get you out. The original plan saw me taking you out of the palace, but it changed at the last minute and I couldn't stop it. I've been trying to find you since then. Piqué is probably already on his way, so we better hurry.” His eyes flickered over to Sergio who slowly lowered his hands, not yet convinced of his story. “I believe I have to thank you for keeping him alive? I'm Jesús Navas, I've been his personal bodyguard some years back.”

 

Sergio took the hand he offered and decided to play along. For now. “Sergio Ramos. Premises.”

 

Navas nodded, but the look he gave him was outright suspicious. It said 'I'll rip out your throat if you hurt him', and Sergio hoped this message was clearly reflected in his own eyes. “Go get your things. We'll talk in the car.”

 

Sergio would've kept up the glaring match for a moment longer, but Fernando pulled him back by the shoulder. “Come on, Sergio. Let's get out of this godforsaken forest.”

 

He kept silent until they were upstairs and out of earshot in the bedroom before he caught Fernando's hand and stopped him from reaching for his jeans. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

 

“Yes.” The answer was quick and steady. “He was the only one who realized something was off about the whole 'sickly child' bullshit. He succeeded to get me out of the palace once, but they found us and he was transferred God knows where. I haven't seen him since then. They must've thought recruiting him would be a bonus, since he'd managed to get me out once before.”

 

“Does he know-”

 

“About the pill thing?” Fernando paused, then slipped into his jeans and bent down to pull on his shoes. “I'm not sure. He never asked, I never told. Do you think we shouldn't trust him?” 

 

Sergio hesitated for a moment. He was tempted to say yes, but then again, they had no choice, had they? Navas had a gun, he was a highly trained professional, and he was definitely on his guard. Sergio knew he had no chance of overpowering him _and_ avoid either of them getting shot. “No, it's alright. But I'll keep an eye out.”

 

Fernando smiled, a real full-grown smile, and briefly cupped his shoulder, his hand still pleasantly warm from the bath. Sergio returned the gesture, much more slowly. “Thank you, McClane. Now let's go.”

 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

 

The startled laugh was totally worth it.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sergio didn't feel comfortable _at all_ to get into Navas' black SUV, parked a short walk down the road leading to the house, especially after his previous experiences of riding with crazy colleagues on the loose. His fears were soothed a tiny bit when Navas asked him to get in the back with Fernando, 'just in case something goes wrong' (not that he liked the sound of that, but at least he'd be able to jump the little agent from behind should he try anything). They reluctantly slowed down to a simmer when Fernando gave him a small smile in the safe darkness of the backseat and then leant forward to talk to Navas.

 

“Tell me. What's going on?”

 

“Just a moment. There's something I have to do first.” Navas reached for the radio unit on the dashboard, but a warning growl from Sergio had him pause. “I'm just going to set a trap for Piqué, don't worry.” Sergio sat up straighter, but didn't reply, and Navas took that as a sign to continue. He set the radio to a different frequency, and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was high with excitement and he was panting hard. “Hello? Mountain Rescue?”

 

The answer was immediate. “This is Mountain Rescue, Falcon Base.”

 

“Listen, I need help! I-I went hiking in the National Park – I know it's not open yet, but- I saw the Prince! They're holding him hostage at a small house just above the great river bend! I saw them dragging him from a car and into the house!”

 

There was a short pause. “The location is noted. Are you sure? What is your name?”

 

“Look, I would like to stay a-anonymous, if that's alright, with the trespassing and all, but I'm absolutely sure! You have to come get him!”

 

“We will inform federal police of your observation. Move back from the area and do _not_ intervene.”

 

“Yes, yes, of course.”

 

Navas shut off the radio, his attention back on driving. Sergio and Fernando exchanged a confused look in the back. “What the hell was that about?”

 

“The abduction news have created quite the stir in our country, and the palace is drowned in offers of sympathy and support, just like the Queen had imagined. When they come in, guns blazing, I hope they catch the bastard red-handed.”

 

Sergio thought 'Well, not the best plan.', while Fernando's shoulders tensed. “What has _she_ got to do with it? What are you saying? That they kidnapped me on her orders?!”

 

_ Orders.  _ Sergio scooted forward on his seat so he was level with Fernando. “That's what Martin said! He said it was an order!”

 

Navas caught his eyes in the rearview-mirror and nodded. “Unfortunately, that's true.”

 

Even with his life-long experience with the schemes of his mother, Fernando was stunned into silence by that revelation, so Sergio decided to take over. But not before he'd imagined a few sufficiently gruesome deaths for the Queen in his mind. “So you're saying she basically told Piqué to  _kill_ him?”

 

“No. It was _meant_ to be an abduction, and you were supposed to end up as cannon fodder.” He fell silent for a second, and then added a quiet 'sorry' as an afterthought.

 

“Cannon fodder?” _What the fuck?!_

 

“Yeah. You were to be presented as the kidnapper, while everyone else would be paraded around as the heroes that freed the prince.” 

 

Now _wait_ a minute. “But Piqué never stuck to that plan! Fernando had seen Martin's face before we were even out of the city, and that asshole himself didn't even _try_ -”

 

“I don't think she wanted me dead,” Fernando intervened, and even though his voice was soft and tired, it easily cut through Sergio's angry tirade and he instantly fell silent. Fernando gave him a sad, grateful smile. “My mother may be a merciless ruler, ruthless even, and there's... _history_ between us that can never be erased, but... have them kill me? No.”

 

Sergio frowned. “So Piqué just went rogue on her?”

 

“Would you put it past him?”

 

“...No.” He turned to look at Navas through the mirror, and the agent nodded to confirm his guess. “But keeping you prisoner isn't any better.”

 

Fernando chuckled, but there was no humour in there. “True. But that would be easier on my mother's conscience, that's for sure. Besides, it was probably to last only until the referendum was done.”

 

Sergio blinked. That was a weird change of topic. “The referendum?”

 

“A royal family struggling, losing their standing with the population, a parliament thriving for more power... The vote forecast said the two parties were almost even. The sympathy they'd receive in case the poor prince got abducted would go a long way, don't you think?”

 

Despite all he'd learned in the past 24 hours, Sergio still had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that the Queen, always so graceful and sincere in public, was actually such a cold-hearted, calculating bitch. Such a fragile plan, with so many variables, evolving around hurting (at least technically) your own child. In his world, these things just didn't happen. But then again, he'd witnessed it first-hand, hadn't he? Humanity issues aside, it was still a ramshackle plan, vulnerable to many unforeseen variables. “But what if the truth came out after the vote? All would've been for nothing.”

 

Fernando shook his head, his eyes flickering across the dashboard as he turned it over in his mind. “That eventuality is easily covered. Evidence of my mental illness – not to mention the trauma from being abducted – would be easier to come by than evidence of the shit that went down here. It would cost them no effort at all to shoot me down through the tabloids with 'revelations' of their own.”

 

Sergio pulled a hand down his face. “Holy shit.” And he'd thought his own family was fucked up. 

 

“Shit!” At first, Sergio thought Navas had just affirmed his curse, but- “There are cars waiting for us! Get out!”

 

“What?!” Sergio squinted into the darkness. Unfortunately, there were indeed two pairs of headlights blocking the road further down the hill. _Just when I thought this would end well._

 

“Get out! I'll convince them you were gone already! Go!”

 

He slowed down, even though he couldn't go that fast to begin with on the narrow road, and Sergio didn't wait for Fernando to protest. He carefully opened the door just enough to fit through and, without hesitation, jumped from the car, dragging the prince out behind him. They both groaned when they hit the ground hard, rolling over to get air back into their lungs. 

 

“No,” Fernando muttered weakly and tried to get up, but Sergio kept his hold on his wrist, pulling him back down.

 

“If you show yourself now, you will blow his cover!”

 

The prince clearly hesitated for a second, but he seemed to see the point, because he only got up on his knees, just until he could see what was happening down the road. Sergio copied his crouch, peering through the trees, and a hot spike of wrath shot through his body as he recognized Piqué standing in front of the cars, dressed in a new suit, flanked by two other security agents he didn't know. Navas pulled the car to a stop across the road, casually blocking the way up and hiding the slightly ajar door in the back. He immediately got out and started talking. They didn't get what he was saying at this distance, but he was shaking his head along the way. 

 

Piqué listened with his arms crossed, unimpressed by his tale, and when Navas was finished, he slowly pulled his phone from his pocket and navigated around the screen for a second before holding it out for Navas to have a look. But instead of something to be seen, there was something to be heard, and Sergio felt all the blood flee his face when Navas' voice was played back at himself. He could only make out a few words here and there, but it was enough.

 

“... need help... the prince... anonymous... have to come get him!”

 

_ Oh God, be merciful.  _

 

“I knew there was something about you I didn't like,” Piqué said, loud and clear, and Sergio had to pull Fernando closer to him, lest he jump up and run to his friend's aid. “Where are they?”

 

Again, Navas' answer was too quiet to be heard, and he was once more shaking his head. With a shrug that seemed to say 'Well, what can you do?', Piqué pulled his gun from the holster and aimed at his head. Before anyone could react, a shot rang out and Navas immediately went limp, his body hitting the floor without a sound, and Sergio barely had time to clamp a hand over Fernando's mouth before he screamed. 

 

The muffled sound was drowned out in another scuffle down the road as one of the agents gave a yell and drew his own gun, but he wasn't fast enough. A second shot ripped through the silence and Piqué immediately aimed at the other agent, his words too quiet to catch. But they seemed to hit their mark, because the agent nodded in response and then pointed down at the bodies. “What about them?”

 

“We hide them in the forest.”

 

Frozen in shock until now, Fernando began to struggle again in his arms as he caught the words, and Sergio had trouble keeping his hold on him. For someone with such a scrawny body, weakened further by everything they'd gone through, he suddenly possessed a wild strength, and it took every ounce of muscle power Sergio had to keep him down and restrained.

 

“Fernando, stop,” he whispered into his ear, his own voice shaking violently with shock and fear. “They'll hear us. You gotta stop!”

 

Fernando continued fighting against his hold for a few seconds longer, but then he suddenly stopped moving altogether, only his chest expanding in quick bursts of breath. Sergio waited for a moment to be sure, and then he slowly released Fernando from his tight grip. “You can't help him now. We have to go.”

 

Fernando nodded, almost dazed, and he let himself be helped onto his feet without any resistance. Sergio knew he was caught in shock, his eyes wide and unseeing, and with one last look at Piqué and the agent, he pulled the prince away from the road and deeper into the darkness of the forest. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you so much for reading! Next chapter will be up sooner, promise!


	7. Chapter 7

— † —

 

 

Iker Casillas was a patient man. He could keep calm when things got messy, when things got dangerous, even when things left the path of legality. He could wait for his turn to shuffle the cards, to play his trumps at the best, sometimes last possible moment. Some would call him ruthless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for success. Some would call him a criminal.

 

Let them talk. Talking didn't change anything, so Iker Casillas didn't talk much. Instead, he was willing to go all out in order to educate, to bring to light the schemes that were undermining their country, eroding their freedom step by step. He was willing to risk his life for the ugly truth behind the pretty mask, and those who followed him were willing to risk their own. There was no need for fancy words to ensure their loyalty. They had a common goal: jolt their people from the fat and lazy illusion of democracy before it was too late.

 

Everything had been coming along just as he'd planned: an article about police repression here, a leaked picture of a greased politician's palm there – and bit by bit, the balance had shifted. His undercover helpers had been digging up more and more ammunition to use against the epicentre of power. _The Queen is dead. Long live the people._ He'd figured it out as the perfect caption for the leading article he'd been working on for years. The last weapon to be fired. And the most lethal.

 

Not every lead proved to be an ammunition gold mine, though. When Jesús Navas had turned up on his doorstep with his strange story of a drugged prince and an evil stepmother, Iker had turned him away. It wasn't the first time the Queen's henchmen had figured out their hiding place and sent a puppet to lure them into a mistake that would take down their entire operation. But the short agent had insisted that he was telling the truth, that he would convince the prince to break free from his prison and join their cause.

 

Iker hadn't bought the story. It sounded like a fairytale, badly retold with princes instead of princesses, and pills instead of apples. But everything was possible in their trade, and the prince testifying against his mother would be a very welcome treat, so he'd decided to wait and see. He'd prepared a safe house, false identities to leave the country unnoticed, one of his most trusted helpers to accompany them as a guide.

 

Neither Navas nor his witness had appeared that night. Iker didn't know whether they had even made it beyond the palace walls or whether the whole thing turned out to be a hoax after all. In any case, his informants couldn't dig up any evidence for neither scenario. But the fact that Navas was erased from the security detail without a trace... Iker had been more careful after that, yet straining his ears for any rumours, any whisper that said the prince was being held captive in the palace against his will. There were none, and soon enough, he stopped listening. He had other things to deal with, things that weren't shady bedtime stories. Like the fate of an entire country.

 

And then the prince had disappeared for real, and with him all the chances of winning this war. Everything they had been working so hard for, everything they had prepared for the last four years – it fell like a house of cards as the wave of sympathy turned the tide against them.

 

Now that the prince was _definitely_ missing, he knew he'd been wrong to give up so easily. He wasn't stupid enough to believe the two incidents weren't related. And he knew that, if he found the missing link, he might be able to turn the entire vote around. But time was of the essence – the life of the prince wasn't the only one hanging in the balance.

 

Of course, he couldn't be entirely sure that Sergio was in any way involved in the abduction. The kid couldn't hurt a fly, much less a human being (that's why Iker never encouraged his dreams of becoming a bodyguard, but that was a different kettle of fish). And yet, he hadn't been seen since Dani had opened the servants' entrance for him last night, and he'd answered neither calls nor messages. _And_ his booze buddy, Martin (a loose cannon, if you were to ask Iker), was nowhere to be found, either.

 

With a sigh, he looked up at the map on the wall above his desk. Where was that fucking link? The Queen was in the middle, of course, flanked by the leading duo of her security detail, Piqué and Villa. Then her followers in the so-called parliament on the left, and dubious members of society with connections to the palace on the right. All those pictures were framed by compromising intel, weak links, interrelations. Iker was an old-fashioned man. None of those details could be found on any of his hard drives. Too easy to steal, even with a talented hacker on his own team to defend it. His map, however... one match was all it took to erase it. Cesc could grumble all he wanted, Iker wouldn't budge on the subject of his map.

 

His gaze dropped to the bottom, and he sighed again. There were two pictures he didn't like to look at, in contrast to the dirty lists he'd drawn up above. One showed the prince, in the best up-to-date photo he could find on the Internet. It was dating back to two years prior, and if that didn't ring any alarm bells... The other picture showed Sergio, lounging on the couch in Iker's living room downstairs. It had been taken three weeks ago, and his heart gave a little sting as he looked at the careless grin Sergio was showing off, as if he didn't have a worry in the world. _Where are you?_

 

The front door banging shut interrupted this train of thought, and he hastily rearranged some papers on his crowded desk, a nervous tic he couldn't shake off. He instantly recognized the heavy steps on the stairs, typical for biker boots, and he knew what it meant. He knew the question to the answers he was about to get. _Please let me be wrong._

 

“Iker?”

 

“Office.”

 

One look at Dani's face was all it took, but Iker had to make sure. “Nothing?”

 

“No.” Dani took a step forward away from the door to make way for Cesc, who wore the same crestfallen expression. “It doesn't look like he made it back to his room. All his clothes are there, toothbrush, everything. And I asked a few more colleagues today. No one has seen him.”

 

“Martin's number?”

 

“Yeah, I got it. I called him at least a dozen times. There's only voice mail.”

 

Iker pulled off his glasses so he could rub at his eyes and buy some time to fret behind the mask of professionalism he was currently wearing. He had a bad feeling about this, a _really bad_ feeling, but they didn't need to know that. Dani especially was easily stirred into emotional uproar, and he needed him to go back to work with a perfect poker face. If anyone were to guess his ties to Iker Casillas, he'd never forgive himself for the disciplinary measures – to put it mildly – the young guard would have to face.

 

“Thank you. Please try again tomorrow.” The dismissal was clear as day, but neither Dani nor Cesc moved. “Yes?”

 

The couple exchanged a quick glance – and probably a whole conversation along the way – and then Cesc nodded. “What about René? Shouldn't we call him?”

 

And wasn't that the ultimate question. Iker had been thinking back and forth about it, but he didn't know the answer. So far, they didn't even know where Sergio had gone, why he didn't pick up his phone, why he didn't come back to work. A guy was allowed to take a few days off without telling anyone, of course, but Sergio wasn't that type of guy. Even if he didn't pick up their calls, he'd definitely make sure to call back. Besides, if none of his belongings were missing, then the idea of a spontaneous holiday could definitely be ruled out. And the Queen and her henchmen were able to make a man disappear, he knew at least that from experience.

 

But they couldn't be sure. They couldn't be sure Sergio had been caught in the crossfire of the abduction of the prince. What if he called René, told him what he knew (which was very little) and the big brother raced back to Madrid, to dangerous territory, only to find Sergio alive and well, armed with a harmless excuse for his disappearance?

 

“No,” he decided, even though the word felt like lead on his tongue. “Not yet. We can't risk him coming back here. It's too dangerous.”

 

“But-”

 

He silenced Dani with a pointed look, but his boyfriend wasn't to be cowed so easily. Cesc frowned and fished for his cigarettes in his jacket, lighting one with deliberately slow movements. The little shit knew goddamn _well_ how much Iker hated it when he smoked in the house! But Cesc steadfastly ignored Iker's dark glare and blew the smoke up to the ceiling. “Wouldn't you want to know if either of us-” He motioned between Dani and himself. “-disappeared without a trace? Wouldn't you want to know when someone had the _tiniest_ hunch of what happened to us?”

 

He had him there, and they both knew it. But Iker also knew about the consequences, should René reappear in the broad daylight of Madrid and start poking around in palace affairs. He would be exposed sooner rather than later, and Iker wouldn't be able to protect him then. “You have no idea what I could unleash with that single call. Besides, there's a call _I'm_ waiting for that's way more important.”

 

Cesc looked ready to argue, but Dani seemed to realize that was the endpoint of this particular argument. He shushed his boyfriend with a tiny kiss to his cheek and then pulled him out of the office, shutting the door behind them. Bless Dani. Cesc had been a difficult kid – with a big heart of gold, yes, but it was certainly buried beneath an unbearably sassy shell of authority issues and a knack for trouble. But then Dani had come along, settling into their little mismatched family as if they'd always been waiting for him, and Cesc – Cesc was smitten from day one. His awkward attempts to wow Dani had been a never-ceasing source of entertainment – even to his day, Iker thought back to the spectacle to amuse himself in quiet moments. But it had been enough to convince the young guard, and what had started as a clumsy quest had nurtured into a pretty strong bond.

 

Iker prayed its limits wouldn't be put to the test in the war that awaited them.

 

 

— † —

 

 

The call came when Iker had just finished his 6am power nap, and it had him sitting up straight in his office chair. Every leftover trace of sleep was wiped from his mind as he reached for the phone. There was only one person who had received this number. He was almost too afraid to pick up, dread settling heavily in his stomach, but he knew he had no choice. Whatever it was the caller had to share, it might easily make or break the entire operation.

 

“What've you got?”

 

“Someone shut off the security cameras in the servants' tunnels as soon as I was out, so... the few words he exchanged with Dani at the gate? That's the last footage I found of him.” For a second, he hesitated to continue, and Iker closed his eyes as the bad feeling in his stomach ran riot. “The kidnappers had either inside help or they _are_ from the inside. They also turned off the cameras in the garage, and that's the escape route they eventually took. The guards at the gate didn't have a clear view of their faces, so we don't know who drove the getaway car. But Iker, that's the only exit the cameras didn't cover, and I couldn't find him on any of the remaining records. Neither him nor Martin.”

 

“So it's either them in the car or they're still in the palace?”

 

A slow exhale. “Exactly. And to be honest, the latter is pretty unlikely.”

 

Iker wanted to believe he was wrong. But deep down, he knew that was a lost cause. “Thank you. Keep me posted.”

 

“Actually...”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“There's more.” There was a short pause, and Iker could imagine him covertly checking for any unwanted listeners. He didn't like that image. Whatever the caller was going to say, it was obviously (even more) dangerous territory. “Piqué has been gone for almost two days. The Queen told me he was sent on an assignment all on his own, but I have no idea what it's about and where he went. That alone is reason enough to label it a very fishy event.”

 

Iker held back for a second, but he didn't continue. “So you think he may be in on the abduction?”

 

The line rustled faintly. “It is possible at least.”

 

“That would be terrible news.”

 

“Yeah, tell me about it. Listen, my balance is wasting. Damn, I used to get more out of these bloody pay as you go phones...”

 

“Alright. Keep me posted.”

 

“Said that already.”

 

Iker rolled his eyes, but didn't bother with a reply. The call was already cut anyway. Typical David. There was no time to be annoyed about his friend's antiques, though. He had a big brother to call, and he could already tell it wouldn't be a pleasant experience. There was no doubt where their loyalties lay, and they knew they could count on one another if either of them was in need. And yet... There was history between them, unsolved arguments most of all, and Iker wasn't keen on revisiting any of those.

 

But this wasn't about them, nor their petty quarrels. It was about Sergio, and Iker was determined to do anything that needed to be done to get him back. Strictly speaking, calling René wasn't necessary per se, but he had no right to keep it from the big brother any longer. He chucked the used phone in the dustbin, to be disposed of later, and dug up a new one out of his phone drawer. He didn't need a phone book to remember René's number.

 

It rang and rang, and he frowned in disappointment. It was only when he checked the diary on his desk that he remembered that René had told him about some few days off. The older Ramos brother was a late riser by nature (a trait he couldn't act out on the job), and Iker didn't need to be reminded of the tongue-lashing he'd been capable of whenever-

 

“Wha't'fug?”

 

Of course he'd still been asleep. Iker masked his sigh with a clearing of his throat. “Good morning, René. Do you have a minute? It's urgent.”

 

For a second or two, there was nothing but silence on the other end, and Iker could imagine why. He'd never call and say 'it's urgent' if it weren't a matter of life and death (and/or Sergio), and it was only natural that René wouldn't really want to ask. “What is it?”

 

“You heard about the abduction of the prince?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

_Get on with it_ , his voice said. So Iker got on with it. Albeit reluctantly. “We have reason to believe Sergio got caught up in it.”

 

“What are you saying? That he was part of it?”

 

René was suddenly wide awake in his anger, the sleepy blur completely gone from his voice, and Iker closed his eyes for a moment to settle his own hackles. “No, I don't think so. It looks like his colleague Martin might, and Sergio just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We've heard that particular agent wasn't as royal-friendly as his profession may suggest.”

 

“So... you've _heard_ about it. And yet you did _nothing.”_

 

“My eyes and ears in the palace had no reason to believe-”

 

“Your eyes and ears,” René spat, and Iker gritted his teeth. This was an old argument between them, and of course it would come back to haunt him now. “You ever considered he might've been targeted because of _you?!”_

 

Iker closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the backrest of his office chair. “Believe me when I tell you there's not a moment when I'm _not_ considering it.”

 

A snort of disbelief. “Considering is all you ever do, though. Listen, I agreed to keep quiet about your blasted dealings, as long as they didn't put Sergio at risk. In turn, _you_ promised me you'd tell him if that were to happen.” Footsteps could be heard, fast, like blows of a hammer on a table. Then rustling. “But I knew you're not one to talk. I knew it was a mistake to leave it to you.”

 

Anger rose in his blood, so quickly Iker could barely hold on to the biting remarks waiting on the tip of his tongue. It's not me who left him in the first place, he wanted to say. It's not me who shut him out from your life. But it would do more harm than good, so he swallowed it back down. “What are you doing?”

 

“Packing. I'm coming back to sort out your mess.”

 

“Now wait a minute! We don't even know-”

 

“Iker!” Dani, pale as a ghost and eyes wide, almost fell into the office with the door as his momentum carried him forward as soon as he'd pushed down the handle. “Iker, there's a message!”

 

“What? From whom?”

 

Before Dani could answer, Cesc appeared behind him and roughly pushed him out of the way. He crossed the office with two big steps to thrust a tablet into Iker's hands. “I believe it's-”

 

Iker quickly held up a hand when the video began playing. Even though the screen was black, two voices could be heard arguing, then three. Ignoring René's questions in his ear, and his demands to know what was happening, Iker looked up and met Cesc's grim look, his mouth set in a thin line. Each of them knew at least one of the voices, and Iker had a very bad feeling about the other two. The video ended, and the following silence was so palpable he thought he could reach out and hold on to it. _Jesus Christ._

 

“Iker! What the fuck is going on?!”

 

“I guess I know where your brother is.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

You will know soon. :)  Thanks a lot for staying with me!

 


	8. Chapter 8

— † —

 

 

It had been difficult enough to navigate the forest in broad daylight. In the middle of the night, it was almost impossible. Without the headlights of the cars, he couldn't see anything but nondescript black shapes, blending into each other and sometimes rippling like a dark pond when he focused too hard. He didn't know where he was going, didn't know if there were holes in the ground or branches low enough to hit his head (which had happened a few times already, and his patience had worn pretty thin by now). It didn't help that Fernando was a silent deadweight in his arms, body bowed forward as if he'd fall over any moment, arms twitching from time to time as he fought against his inner demons. Sergio could only guess that the call of his body to be sedated was particularly strong now, as it demanded to be cut off from all the emotional pain. And he could feel that Fernando was dangerously close to caving in, to lying down on the cold carpet of dead leaves and refusing to get back up. 

 

Sergio himself was close to agreeing. It had taken a long time for his heart to slow down again after witnessing the death of yet another two men caught in the scheme of the Queen. It still stuttered from time to time when he heard a particularly loud sound of wood snapping or rustling in the darkness surrounding them, ready to leap into defensive action should Piqué suddenly appear from the underwood. But there was nothing except their own laboured breathing and their uneven heartbeats, and Sergio seriously considered just sitting down and doing nothing for a moment, neither walking nor keeping upright nor thinking too hard about what may yet lie ahead of them. 

 

When they unexpectedly broke through the treeline of a clearing, opening up a small window to the clear and star-studded sky, he decided this place was as good as any. He could finally _see_ something and when he stopped in the middle, looking up at the gap in the endless mass of treetops and leaves, he felt like he was gulping precious air into his lungs after hours of being underwater. 

 

It seemed like the sudden intrusion of light and open space also woke Fernando from his stupor because he stepped out of his embrace, raising his head and looking up at the small patch of open sky. A sigh slipped from his lips and he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths himself, painting white clouds into the air. 

 

Sergio smiled absently, relieved, and gently rested a hand on the small of his back. “You okay?”

 

He felt the angry shudder rather than seeing it, but it proved to be a warning that came too late. Fernando rounded on him, his dark eyes wide and probably filled to the brim with rage. Sergio didn't have to see it in order to imagine it, though. That much experience he had already gathered.

 

“Me?” Fernando's voice was mocking and surprisingly strong for someone who'd spent the last hour or two getting dragged through a forest. “I'm fine, thanks. Compared to the people who keep _dying_ because of me, I'm totally fine!”

 

“I know-” He almost bit his tongue when his mouth snapped shut, but he soon found he was unable _not_ to respond when the prince fell into one of his temper outbursts. “I know he was your friend.”

 

“Shit, yeah. My only friend.” Fernando laughed, a tiny and terrible sound, and it drove a spike of sadness right through Sergio's heart. “He was my only friend. I shouldn't have talked him into springing me out back then. I shouldn't have-”

 

“Fernando. He knew the risks of his job, especially when he came back.”

 

“And what good did that do?!” Fernando started pacing, raising his hands and raking his fingernails across his shaved head. “Who in their right mind would even accept a job where they risked their own lives for people they don't even know?!”

 

Sergio took a deep breath. “I would. I was even planning on-” 

 

It was out before he could even finish _thinking_ that sentence, and he knew the damage was done when Fernando immediately stopped his pacing, the wide black pools of his eyes boring into his. “You were even planning on _what?”_

 

“I was... I was going to apply for that job.” Yeah, Sergio, just be honest. Great idea.

 

The effect of a punch to his gut couldn't have been more painful, Sergio could see it in Fernando's face. The prince opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. And all of a sudden, there were tears shining in Fernando's eyes, but he didn't even seem to notice as he kept staring at Sergio.

 

“I couldn't,” he started in a small and soft voice, but then his face scrunched up in anger and it rose to a shout. “You wanted to become a bodyguard? What is this then? Your entrance examination?!”

 

Sergio winced. “Fernando-”

 

“No! Fuck...” A ripple ran down Fernando's frame and he took a tumbling step back before he sagged into a crouch, swaying back and forth. “I couldn't- Don't you see I can't lose anyone else?! I couldn't bear- I can't. I can't.”

 

Fernando bent his head down, fingers suddenly clutching at his forearms, and Sergio's blood ran cold as he realized he was probably wishing for a knife, a razor, anything to take away the emotional pain in his heart and replace it with physical pain he was able to cope with. He took a small and slow step forward, keeping a close eye on Fernando's body language. Even though the prince didn't look like he might lash out any moment, caught in his own head as he was, Sergio decided not to take any risks as he lowered himself down on his knees next to him. Fernando didn't even acknowledge his presence, and he didn't shy away either when Sergio covered his shaking hands with his, gently prying them away from his scars and cradling them in his lap. 

 

“You will not lose me, Fernando.”

 

A few beats of silence passed and then Fernando raised his head. His eyes were clear and focused, and Sergio allowed himself a short moment of relief. “Isn't that what they all say?”

 

“Yeah. But I mean it.”

 

Fernando ducked his head, maybe to hide a smile, and then he lay down all the way, stretching his long limbs out as he settled into the thin layer of leaves. He pulled on Sergio's hand, dragging him down to settle in next to him, and then rolled over onto his side so he could look at him. Sergio turned his head and their eyes locked. They stayed like that for a while, both of them content watching the other breathe and soon enough, Fernando's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing deepening. Sergio was pretty sure he was fast asleep, but then he suddenly spoke. 

 

“I forgot you're the Invincible Sergio Ramos.”

 

It took Sergio a moment to realize it was a joke – if a poor attempt –, and he felt his heart coming down from the danger high. The worst seemed to be over. “It's McClane to you.”

 

Fernando released a brief snort of laughter, but quickly grew serious again. “Why would you want to be a bodyguard?” Sergio hesitated, his heartrate skyrocketing again, but there was not a trace of accusation in there, only sincere curiosity. “You don't have to answer if-”

 

“No,” Sergio interrupted before he could set out on a nervous ramble. “It's okay. I just... I guess I wanted to give something back?” Fernando frowned and opened his eyes to send him a confused look, and Sergio realized he wouldn't understand without the whole background. “It's a long story.”

 

“Want me to check my appointments? I believe I'm free, though.” He gave Sergio a small, teasing smile. “If you don't mind, that is.”

 

No, Sergio didn't mind. He was surprised to find he wanted to talk about his family, even though he usually shied away from any of the many memories he preferred to keep locked away in the farthest corner of his mind. Maybe Fernando just wanted to return the favour, maybe he was genuinely interested. Either way, it didn't matter, because as soon as he started thinking about it, the need to cast off all the weight he was constantly carrying around for just a few minutes was overwhelming.

 

“I grew up in a... pretty chaotic environment. One of those tower blocks at the edge of town, you know, where no sane person would ever go if they can help it. The only people living there were those who couldn't choose, because they couldn't afford it, or because no one would rent out a better flat to them, or because they were too fucked up to get a proper job done. My parents definitely belonged to the latter category. I have no idea why, I never asked. In my mind, they've always been these helpless, angry people, shouting, hitting, drinking... and doing drugs, most of all. My brother René, he...” He paused, waiting for the familiar yearning to subside, and Fernando tightened his grip on his hand. “He's six years older than me. Six years of that hell, and he still made sure to hold off the worst of it, so I wouldn't suffer like he had. He even stayed with my parents long after he got his first few jobs, giving them half of his salaries and saving up the rest.”

 

Fernando nodded. “So you left? You and him?”

 

“No. Or yes. But not on a whim. One day, René wasn't home, my father decided I had taken his drugs and hidden them somewhere. I don't remember much of what followed, only pain and my mother's howling, and then my brother, pulling my father off me and pushing him back. He fell. The kitchen table-” _So much blood. His mother screaming and crying. His brother's voice in his ear, “Sese, come on. We gotta go!”_

 

This time, Fernando hesitated longer to fill the pause. “He was dead?”

 

“Yeah. Instantly.” He took a deep breath and turned his head to the sky, swallowing against the lump threatening to block his voice. “My brother took me and his hidden money and we were out of there. Travelled from city to city until René got a good job in Barcelona. The police never found us. I'm not even sure anyone had actually called the cops.”

 

“Do you sometimes think about your mother? Would you like to meet her again?”

 

Sergio pondered that for a moment. Would he? “No... I don't think so. René is the only true family I ever had.”

 

He realized there were tears gathering in the corners of his eyes only when Fernando raised a hand to gently wipe them away. He stared at the prince with hooded eyes, embarrassment heating up his face, but Fernando simply shook his head. “What happened then?”

 

“René tried to find someone who could forge documents that would make him my legal guardian. Got in touch with the wrong crowd. They were asking favours of him in exchange for the documents, and a large sum of money. It didn't work out well. We had to leave again, went to Madrid instead. This time, he managed to get hold of some pretty decent people. They even took us in.” He smiled fondly as brighter memories replaced the nightmares of his childhood. “Don't get me wrong. They weren't decent in the sense of the law, but to me, they were the best I ever met.” Fernando raised an eyebrow at him, and he could practically see the prince turning the bit 'not decent in the sense of the law' over in his head. “It was nothing serious. They weren't harming people, just... let's say, toeing the line of the law.” 

 

The prince seemed to realize he wasn't going to elaborate. “But what about the palace job? I thought they were doing pretty thorough background checks?”

 

“What can I say? They were _very_ thorough forgers.”

 

“What about your brother? What was he doing?” Sergio's grin immediately dimmed, and Fernando backpedaled just as quickly. “Sorry, I didn't-”

 

“He almost ran into one of the Barcelona assholes in Retiro and barely managed to get away unseen. That shook him pretty badly. He left the same night, when I was sleeping. Called two days later to say he was okay. He said they didn't know my face, that I had a life in Madrid, that he would visit as often as he could. He never came back, though. I think I've seen him only twice in the last two years.”

 

His voice turned angry and sharp, and Fernando squeezed his hand. “Are you two talking?”

 

“Yes! Yes, of course!” His frown melted into a smile when he realized what the prince must be thinking. “He just can't get easy leave from his job, and we keep contact through e-mails, mostly. I guess I...” It was hard to say it out loud, even though he had admitted it to himself a long while ago. “I never forgave him for leaving me behind, I guess. If you're dependant on someone else for so long, it's hard not to lose your grip when they're gone.”

 

“So that's what you wanted to give back as a bodyguard? And regain your grip?” 

 

“Yeah. I was so lucky to have an older brother looking out for me, shielding me from the hell we were caught in, and I guess I wanted to do the same for someone else.”

 

“You're already doing it.”

 

They exchanged a smile, but it dimmed when a shiver ran down Fernando's spine. “You cold?”

 

“Not yet. Just...” 

 

His eyes traced Sergio's frame longingly, focusing on his chest and arms, and it occurred to Sergio that someone like the prince, who wasn't used to company and to physical contact even less so, probably didn't even know how to ask for comfort. So he carefully draped an arm around Fernando's shoulders and pulled him forward until his head was resting on his chest, his body pressed against his side. “I'm sorry about... Jesse.” 

 

He stumbled over the nickname, and Fernando tensed in his embrace. Sergio could feel his breathing hitch against his throat, and for a moment, he worried he'd triggered another outburst, but then it evened out again and the prince wriggled around for a moment until he was comfortable. “Me too.”

 

“You sleep, I keep watch, yeah?”

 

Fernando nodded with a yawn. “Wake me when it's my turn. And tomorrow, you'll tell me more about those  _decent_ people.”

 

“If you want.”

 

“Yeah, I want that.”

 

As Sergio stared up into the night sky, acutely aware of Fernando's steady heartbeat echoing through his ribcage, he realized he'd totally forgotten about the danger they were in while he'd told his story, and that the horror of neither was gripping him. He looked back down at Fernando in his arms, already fast asleep, his face soft and relaxed, and he could almost hear René laughing at him in his head.  _You fool. You never saw what was right in front of your eyes._

 

Shut the fuck up.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sergio didn't sleep that night. He kept watching the sky until it turned a sluggish grey and then a dark blue, and for the first time in many years, he was able to think about his past without shying away from the pain that came with it. Until now, he had never looked back, never dared opening the door to that dark place in the back of his mind. And ever since René's reassuring presence had been absent from his life, even less so. But after laying out his past for Fernando, he was wondering what still remained of the terror he'd been carrying within him. Ruthlessly, he'd gone through every memory he still had, looking at it closely without flinching, without wishing it wasn't there. They had shaped his history, made him the man he was today, but he realized they had no power over him. Not anymore. 

 

He had come into his own, and he hadn't even noticed it himself. Not until he lay in a godforsaken forest, after being abducted, shot at, crashed down and shouted at. After spilling the one story he'd never told anyone else. There was no one left to dictate his thoughts and his actions, not his parents, not René and certainly not that bastard Piqué. It felt... amazing. Amazing and terrifying at the same time. But at least he wasn't alone in this experience.

 

Fernando hadn't stirred all night, sleeping the sleep of the utterly exhausted, and Sergio hadn't dared move. And even though his neck was bitching at him and his muscles were frozen stiff, his left side was pleasantly warm and that was all he cared about. He would even go so far as admitting (only in the privacy of his own head, though) he was enjoying it. Concerning the heir to the throne (and the situation), those may be improper thoughts, but he knew he'd long since stopped seeing the prince in Fernando, and begun thinking of him as just Fernando. 

 

Compared to the pictures he'd seen in the papers and on TV, he didn't even look like the prince with his shorn hair (a message of defiance to his mother, no doubt) and that haunted look in his dark eyes. Not to mention his character, who couldn't be farther away from stiff courtly protocol, with his biting remarks, his black humour and the two souls inhabiting his mind, constantly warring for dominance. 

 

“Jesse!”

 

Sergio's heart almost gave out when Fernando suddenly shot up and out of his embrace, his eyes darting around the clearing in panic before coming to rest on Sergio. Fernando winced and then shrugged. “Sorry. I was dreaming that-” He abruptly trailed off and Sergio immediately knew why. 

 

“I'm afraid it wasn't a dream,” he said softly and avoided his gaze.

 

He gave a start when Fernando abruptly fell back against his side, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His fingers easily found their way back into the wrinkles of his shirt beneath his leather jacket, and Sergio hesitantly resettled his arm across his shivering back, pulling him tighter up against him. He wished he could think of something to say to comfort the prince, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would lessen the burden of Navas' death. 

 

“Should we go on?”

 

Sergio thought about it for a moment, using the few precious seconds to come down from the shot of adrenaline Fernando's sudden jump had prompted. “No. It's no use to try before we can see more than a few metres ahead.”

 

“Okay...” Fernando cleared his throat, his shuddering breath tickling Sergio's neck. “Tell me more about your brother?”

 

“My brother?”

 

“Yeah. You two seemed to be so close, I'd like to know more about you as siblings.” He paused, and then added softly, “Not like I have experience with that.”

 

Sergio wondered if personal questions were safe now, but then decided it was worth a try. “Aren't you close with your sister?”

 

Fernando was silent for a moment, but his shoulder blades shifted uneasily beneath Sergio's arm. “Nah. We are... _very_ different. Considering we're only half siblings, that's no surprise, but... It was clear from the start that, with me being sick, she would take over the throne one day, and she was always busy with boarding school and all her appointments and duties and stuff like that. I rarely ever saw her. To be honest, I don't even blame her. I don't think I was pleasant company with all the drugs messing up my head. So... no, we're not close. Not even close.” He chuckled weakly at his own pun. “I think it's better if she never learns the truth. It would destroy her world as well.”

 

“I see.” 

 

He didn't know what else to say, but it turned out Fernando wasn't keen on delving deeper into that topic, either. “So... your brother. What's he doing now?”

 

“He's a Chief Mate on a cargo-ship.”

 

Fernando pulled back to look at him, his eyes wide and filled with childlike excitement. “No way!”

 

Sergio chuckled, a surge of pride warming his heart. “Yeah. He started at the bottom of the line when he left and worked his way up. He's expecting to be promoted to Captain pretty much any day now.”

 

“Where does he go?”

 

“Back and forth between Spain and India, usually, down West Africa and then back up through the Indian Ocean.”

 

“Wow.” Fernando shook his head, his mouth curving into a small smile of wonder. “Holy shit. That's amazing! I wish I could do that... just go with the wind and get to see foreign countries...”

 

“Well, it's not that romantic, to be honest. It's a pretty tough business. Insane workload, minimal off time and so on. But he's happy. Maybe... maybe he can take you for a tour someday.” It was out before he could stop himself, and he had to refrain from facepalming when Fernando immediately retreated back into his shell. _Idiot._ He gently cradled his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of the things you can't have. I'll do anything to get you out of here. Promise. And if it's the last thing I ever do.”

 

“It might.”

 

It felt strange how time seemed to slow down while his heart sped up until he couldn't keep the beats apart anymore. His eyes widened in horror, perfectly mirrored by Fernando's, but before either of them could react, Piqué had already crossed to the middle of the clearing with two long strides, no weapon in hand. That was the most important information, and Sergio didn't even think before he pushed Fernando away from him and wrapped his arms around Piqué's long legs, dragging the agent to the ground and throwing his arm forward in a lucky punch to the jaw. Piqué immediately went slack beneath him, disoriented for a second, and Sergio pulled his arm back to deliver a knock out. It didn't come to that.

 

Piqué started laughing, grinning up at him with his teeth painted red with blood, and Sergio paused. “Didn't you forget something?”

 

Sergio stared at him, his mind racing but still too slow on the uptake, because what the hell? What what _what?!_ Only when a bullet embedded itself into the forest ground just one and a half feet away from his calf, did he remember the other agent, and another bullet whizzing past him propelled him back into action. He jumped off Piqué and hooked a hand into Fernando's elbow, pulling him off the ground and once again into a run. They broke through the treeline into the forest, Piqué's laughter still trailing behind them. At least the bullets had stopped. But there was someone running after them, Sergio could hear them breaking through the undergrowth, following their path-

 

To the river. Sergio almost took a step too many when they reached another clearing, hurrying up the slope only to realize there wasn't more forest at the top. There was a vertical drop waiting for them instead, thirty metres of smooth rockface reaching down into the river bend below, and Sergio almost stumbled over the edge, but Fernando was quick enough to dig his heels in and pull him back, away from the slippery ridge. 

 

The agent following them wasn't so lucky. He emerged from the forest in a dead sprint and immediately went for Sergio, obviously planning on taking down the stronger opponent without actually killing him. The fight proved to be short-lived, as the agent misjudged the situation just like they had, his momentum carrying him on before he could pull back. His hand graced Sergio's shoulder, slipping off the leather, and he just barely managed to bend out of reach as the agent tumbled over the edge and disappeared into the dark waters below with a startled yell. 

 

“Sergio!”

 

Fernando's voice was a breathy whisper, nothing more, but in the terrified silence, it seemed as loud as a shout. Sergio quickly turned, following Fernando's line of sight, and his eyes immediately caught on Piqué's shadow, slowly strolling after his fellow agent. He didn't need to hurry, he knew he finally had them right where he'd wanted them all along: in a trap with no way to escape but with a jump over the edge. In a desperate last attempt at doing _something_ to evade whatever fate Piqué had in mind for them, Sergio dug out his phone and checked the reception.

 

“Right, boys. Fun is done.” Piqué casually settled down on one of the rocks littering the strip of grass along the ridge, his gun resting in his lap, ready to be raised at a moment's notice. He nodded at the phone in Sergio's hand. “You should've just thrown it away. Would've spared yourself all that trouble you've gone through, you know?”

 

Sergio's fingers flitted across the screen for a few seconds longer before he gave up and pushed it back into his jacket pocket, sending Piqué a disgruntled glare. “What do you mean?”

 

“Ever heard of tracking?” 

 

“Tracking?” Sergio scoffed at that. _No fucking way._ “There's not even a trace of service out here!”

 

Piqué grinned, and Sergio had to refrain from the powerful urge to march over to him and punch that triumphant smirk off his face. “Doesn't mean your phone doesn't try to reach out and find any. These days, the traces it found are definitely enough to follow you around.” He laughed loudly when Sergio just stared at him, dumbfounded. “Oh, I can practically see the cogs turning in your head!” His laughter slowed to a smug smile, and he leaned back, satisfied with the way his show was coming along. “It never occurred to you that everything you did was working against you? I mean, okay, maybe not going down with the helicopter. That was _not_ part of the plan. But getting your fingerprints on the house? And pictures of you rummaging through the medicine, trying to force a pill on the prince, tackling him? Let me tell you this: you deserve a freaking Oscar for your performance!” 

 

Sergio forgot all about his vow of silence, about not giving Piqué exactly what he wanted, but as he opened his mouth to retort, he found he didn't know what to say. “I...” He couldn't believe he'd been played. It couldn't be. It could not have all been for nothing!

 

He felt Fernando shift uncertainly beside him. “Sergio?”

 

Sergio automatically shook his head, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Piqué. “I didn't know. I thought-”

 

“What, you thought I was that bad of a shot? That I would just let you two loose on the park, like a bloody honeymoon trip?! It hurts me to know you think so lowly of me.” Piqué raised the gun to casually scratch his beard with the muzzle, and then continued in that blasted chatty voice. “The Queen did, too, actually. She didn't want to wait, demanded we go fetch you right then. She was convinced her plan had failed, but I managed to persuade her that we should take it slow, see how everything developed. And you indeed fell for it, providing us with ample evidence to be used against you.”

 

Sergio blinked once, and all of a sudden, his brain was online again. Ruthlessly squashing down the anger rising in the back of his mind, he decided to play dumb. “The Queen? She knows about this?!”

 

Piqué smirked at him, clearly enjoying to be the one to drop this bomb on him. “Yes, you heard that right. The Queen.”

 

“But why would-”

 

“Tssss, Sergio.” Piqué clicked his tongue and shook his head, fake disappointment crossing his face. “Haven't you been _enjoying_ the company of the prince long enough to see why? The little shit can't be let loose on the unsuspecting people of Spain. Not as a prince, and certainly not as a ruler. What's one more pill, eh, Fernando? It's not gonna kill you. Just be a good boy again.”

 

Sergio could feel Fernando tense beside him, but he was too slow to prevent him from lashing out. “You fucking asshole!” Fernando took a quick step forward, his eyes burning with rage. “You have no fucking idea-”

 

“Ah ah.” Piqué wagged his finger at him and then raised the gun until it was pointed right at Sergio's head. “We had this argument before, remember that?”

 

Fernando froze, his hands balling into fists at his sides, but he didn't reply, and Sergio slowly reached out and touched the small of his back to keep him calm. There was something he needed to ask. For his sake as well as Fernando's. “Why stage the roadblock, though? Why kill Navas?”

 

Piqué shrugged, unfazed by the question. “He was expendable. Besides, I wanted to see your face, when you thought you'd made it, only to get caught at the last minute.”

 

Sergio frowned, the rude reply already waiting on his tongue, but Fernando once again was faster than him. “You goddamn-” 

 

Piqué's angry hiss cut through his curse, and the agent's whole body tensed as he prepared for the recoil. Fernando seemed to realize immediately what was about to happen and threw himself around, hands reaching out to push Sergio out of the line of fire, but he misjudged the hold he had on the slick rockface. His supporting leg slipped, his balance shifting, and Sergio was too slow to catch him as he stumbled over the edge. He could only watch as he fell and disappeared beneath the black surface of the river. 

 

He whipped around to Piqué who was busy swearing and peering at his gun, and Sergio suddenly realized _there had been no shot._ For a split-second, he was torn between jumping after Fernando and seizing his chance to remove Piqué from their tail once and for all, but he knew the top priority. _Survive._ They wouldn't, as long as that bastard was still alive.

 

He shot forward, knocking into the agent and tearing him down to the ground. Piqué swore loudly and raised his hands to ward off his attack, but he was no match for the blind rage that burned in Sergio and erased all caution. All sense of defence was gone as he simply saw red, not even flinching when Piqué got a punch in himself. The scuffle was over before it could really begin, and Sergio jumped back onto his feet, gun in hand and pointed at Piqué's head. The agent looked up at him in horror, waiting for the parting words, but Sergio wasn't intent on drawing this out any longer. _You'll go silently_ , he thought grimly – and then he pulled the trigger.

 

Nothing.

 

He tried again. Another empty click.

 

Baffled, he looked at the gun in his hand and then back down at Piqué, and when he saw the grin on his face, he didn't even need the agent to spell it out for him. Another game. Another trap. And he had fallen for it _yet again._ When the rescue squads burst through the treeline half a second later, they found Sergio pointing a gun at a high-ranking agent of the royal security detail, all ready to shoot him, with the prince nowhere in sight. He instantly let go of the gun and dropped his head, hands high in the air. As they forced him down onto his knees, bending his arms behind his back and handcuffing him, he heard Piqué calling for someone to go after Fernando, to save the prince, _save him at all cost,_ only to be answered by a sudden cry travelling through the squad. 

 

_ There, on the far shore! _

 

_ The prince!  _

 

_ Move! Don't let him get away! _

 

Sergio raised his head again when they pulled him back upright, his gaze searching the faces surrounding him. He finally met Piqué's eyes amidst the hustle, blazing with anger and scorching hatred, and he allowed himself a small, content smile. You will never get him, it said. You can't harm him now. 

 

He will survive. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you for finishing the first part of this story with me! Hope you're up for the second, too? :)


	9. Chapter 9

— † —

 

 

Sergio didn't know how long he'd been locked away. A day? Two? He'd lost all sense of time, and he had a feeling his captors preferred it that way. The lights in the small holding cell were flickering on and off in erratic patterns, sometimes going off for a few minutes, only to come back on for many hours afterwards. The guards were changing in irregular shifts, too. Two agents and Dani. When his friend had entered the first time, wearing a slightly ill expression on his face, Sergio had almost jumped off his cot. He'd gotten a hold of himself just in time, just nodding at him as he did to each and every one of them. Dani, bless him, had only nodded back in return. They didn't need to know just how close they were. 

 

Piqué himself hadn't come down to see him yet, and Sergio was actually glad about it. He'd managed to keep his cool so far, even though – to be fair – nothing had happened yet. The agents weren't there all the time, but he suspected he remained under surveillance anyway through the cameras installed in every corner of the high ceiling. So he kept his face smooth, made sure he slept regularly, ate the meals they brought him and tried to pass the time with mind games. The latter was actually pretty hard. His mind kept coming back to Fernando, and to all the what ifs: What if he hadn't made it? What if they had caught him? Was he here in the palace, drugged and unable to remember his own name? Or had he gotten through? Left the country for good?

 

He shook his head, annoyed at himself and his own inability to shut away all the memories he shared with the prince. He'd felt responsible for him, in the end even more so, and to be cut off from freedom _yet again_ , just when they'd thought they were through... _and_ to be lured into such an obvious trap... He should have known he was no match for a fully trained and experienced agent like Piqué. He should have known the gun was empty. He should have- The familiar resentment pooled in his stomach, at Piqué as much as himself. Pathetic. And he'd wanted to be a bodyguard. 

 

Before he could get caught in the usual loop of regret and guilt (and seething wrath, whenever he thought about Piqué), Dani appeared in front of his cell door, nodding at him. “How're you feeling today, Ramos?”

 

“Same old. Though the chicken was a bit dry today.”

 

The corner of Dani's mouth pulled into a grin before he could suppress it as he shook his head, walking on to his desk at the end of the hall without another word. Dani knew Sergio knew that he couldn't get him out on his own, and Sergio would never ask him for it. Dani knew that too, so words were unnecessary. Whatever was about to happen, he couldn't do anything about it anyway, and whining wouldn't change anything, either. He'd certainly learned that on the run. 

 

The whoosh of the security door opening down the hall cut off his thoughts and he sat up, curious. There'd never been two guards before. What if Piqué-

 

“Your Highness!”

 

Sergio had stood from his cot before he could help it, and he'd just finished the one and only thought racing through his head – _Fernando_ – before the Highness reached his cell. But it wasn't Fernando. Just like her brother, the princess didn't look anything like the princess he knew from TV and the papers. For one, her presence was _icy cold._ On screen, she seemed to have an easy demeanour, a natural grace, a charming smile – you simply had to like her. (That's why Sergio never quite understood why Martin couldn't find one good word to describe her. Now that he was face to face with her, he suddenly knew why.) He quickly dropped his gaze from the thunderstorm brewing in her bright green eyes, because okay, there was nothing to like about the nasty look she gave him. 

 

“Your Highness...?”

 

Dani seemed torn between 'What can I do for you?' and 'You can't come down here without official permission!', but the princess didn't care one bit about his obvious predicament. She just waved a dismissive hand at him, her eyes still trained on Sergio. “Mr. Ramos, I believe you and I have to talk.”

 

Her voice, cold as steel just like her eyes, didn't leave room for argument, so he just inclined his head. He knew he had to be careful. The Queen wouldn't send her successor for any other reason: she was capable of breaking him down if he didn't keep his head in order. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

 

She nodded for Dani to open the cell, but the poor guard suddenly found a sliver of courage and attempted to stop whatever unauthorized protocol was going on. “Your Highness, I can't open the cell without official permission, and only the Queen and the supervisors of her own security detail can give it.” He flinched when the death glare of the princess finally hit him, but he ploughed on regardless. “I'm sorry, but I must insist-”

 

Once again, the whoosh of the security door could be heard, and Dani turned pale as a ghost when he caught sight of the newcomer. “Agent-”

 

This time, it was the princess that interrupted him as she locked eyes with the agent down the hall. “Ready?”

 

“Yes. Mr. Carvajal, open the door. There you have your order.”

 

Sergio frowned as Dani immediately ducked his head and hastily opened the door. If he weren't busy trying to make sense of what was happening, Sergio would've definitely felt sorry for him. But right now, the 'what the fuck is going on' was more important. He knew that voice, and when the agent finally arrived at the cell, he was able to put a name to it, too. David Villa. The agent was responsible for the security systems that had been installed some years ago, and since then, he'd quickly risen in the hierarchy of the security detail until he was level with Piqué. That fact alone made him dangerous in Sergio's eyes, and he couldn't help but tense up when Villa stepped into the cell and took his arm in a vice grip. 

 

The agent seemed to feel it, because he immediately tightened his hold, his free hand casually resting on the gun at his hip. “Keep it cool, Ramos. We just want to talk.”

 

Yeah, right, Sergio wanted to say, but he didn't. He didn't resist when Villa guided him down the hall, didn't look at Dani, didn't look at the princess. He didn't want to alarm the former, and most certainly, he didn't want the latter to see his thoughts reflected in his eyes. If she was as crafty as the Queen, he could only survive if he managed to give nothing away. Least of all something stupid like the intense resentment creeping through his veins. 

 

Villa lead him into one of the interrogation rooms, and Sergio calmly sat down on the steel chair, bolted to the floor, and rested his hands in the manacles sitting on top of the table without needing to be prompted. There was an amused glint in Villa's eyes when he snapped them shut, but the agent didn't comment. 

 

“All yours,” he told the princess and then left the room, probably in order to watch through the large mirror stretching across the wall across from him. 

 

She waited until she could be sure Villa was all set before she slowly approached and sat down in the opposite chair with the air of someone who'd been taught how to sit down properly and orderly for hours on end. The thought was hilarious, but Sergio didn't allow himself a grin.

 

“Mr. Ramos.” God, that voice. Sergio was actually surprised the temperature in the room wasn't falling rapidly. “I heard you abducted my brother.” He didn't reply, even though the denial was waiting on the tip of his tongue. The princess stared at him, her eyes clear and analysing, as if she were trying to see right through to his soul. “But there's something that doesn't add up.”

 

She left a pause for him to respond, but he just raised an eyebrow. In no way surprised by his silence, she pulled a phone ( _his_ phone) from her pocket in a smooth motion and drew a few patterns on the screen before placing it down on the table between them. “Since you don't want to talk, maybe you'd like to listen.”

 

The phone was playing a video, but there was only a short burst of blurred and dim light before the screen went dark. Sergio's frown smoothed out and he leant back in his chair. He suddenly knew what he was going to hear. And he knew how to deal with it. 

 

“Ever heard of tracking?” 

 

“Tracking? There's not even a trace of service out here!”

 

He looked up at the princess, and as his last conversation with Piqué echoed around the room, he watched her watching him. With every breath, he calmed down further until he was sure he could win this battle of wills. He'd known they would find the video. He'd known they would demand to know what he'd done with it, if someone had it sitting on their hard disc somewhere, waiting to push a button and present the world with a new truth. This was save territory.

 

The video ended. The sudden silence was pushing against his eardrums, and he had to swallow to relieve the pressure. The princess tilted her head to the side and kept watching him with her hawk-like eyes, missing nothing. “You used an app to record it, an app that produced a ten minute video before sending it to a pre-installed e-mail address.” 

 

Again, a pause. There was no point in denying what she already knew, so he just shrugged. “A friend of mine designed it. I must admit, I wasn't convinced I'd ever need it, but now I realize it has its uses.”

 

The princess couldn't suppress a grimace of annoyance, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. Sergio had seen it, though. _Ha._ “We couldn't find the address. The account was already deleted, without a trace. I suppose you don't want to tell us who owned it?” Sergio didn't answer, but he allowed himself the luxury of a smile. If that was all they were going to ask him... “And I suppose you can't tell me anything about Fernando, either? About our mother and the pills Piqué was talking about? Why he's been calling for you over and over again since he was brought home two hours ago?”

 

The smile froze on his face, and it took all his willpower not to react to the obvious bait. A lie. Nothing but another dirty _lie._ He glowered at her across the table, but the princess wasn't glowering back. Her gaze was soft, sad almost, and that was worse than any nasty glares or hurtful words. All of a sudden, Sergio wanted to believe her, wanted to believe she was just worried for her brother, just seeking the truth behind Piqué's careless words in the video. But he knew that would be the last mistake he ever made. She only wanted to find out how much he actually knew, he reminded himself. 

 

“Mr. Ramos. Sergio... if I may?”

 

He gritted his teeth. “No, you may not.”

 

The princess nodded, but didn't pay his resistance any heed. She continued as if he hadn't spoken. “Sergio, I'm not lying to you.” She raised a hand to stop him when he released a snort of disbelief. “I know, you have no reason to trust me. Villa?”

 

For a moment, nothing happened, but then Agent Villa opened the door and delivered a tablet to the princess, who took it carefully, so as not to disturb the image it showed. She rested it on the table, right next to the phone, and even though Sergio didn't want to see what was on the screen, his gaze was drawn to it against his will. And this time, his breathing actually broke off, his chest stilling as if he were dead. 

 

Fernando. The grainy night vision images were showing a date and a time that might even be the actual date and time, and Sergio knew without a doubt that it wasn't a fake. They hadn't even bothered to change the battered and dirty clothes, only the winter coat was missing. But apart from that, they'd shackled him to the bed just like he'd been, shoes and all. Sergio closed his eyes for a moment, unable to take the terrible image. The sounds, however, were worse. He could hear Fernando's whimpers, his desperate voice whispering words he didn't understand. He was obviously having a nightmare. Or worse.

 

_ Sergio. _

 

His eyes snapped back open and he shot forward in his chair, unable to hold himself back. Fernando had said his name, loud and clear. His mind was racing, drawing up plans and discarding them again at a mad pace. But no,  _no._ That wasn't his most important concern. His eyes locked with those of the princess, and this time, he believed her to be sad, to be horrified. 

 

“Did-” He quickly cleared his throat when his voice came out hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for hours on end. “Did they drug him again?”

 

The princess pressed her lips into a tight line, and when she spoke, her voice was shaking just as badly as his own. “So it's true?”

 

Sergio was silent for a moment, simply watching her. Was there a reason he shouldn't believe her to be worried about her brother? Would giving away the truth save Fernando? Would it just make everything worse? He closed his eyes and counted to five, then opened them again. “Yes, it's true.” He looked down at Fernando one more time before he strained against the shackles holding his wrists, blackening the screen with an angry stab. He ignored the sharp intake of breath from the princess. “Tell me, did they?” 

 

She shook her head, unable to speak, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. What he was about to say would change everything, just like Fernando had predicted. But false sympathy would get them nowhere now. “Fernando is your half brother. He is only your father's son, and the Queen adopted him to cover up her own miscarriage. I don't know why, if it's because she hated him for what your father had done, or if it's because he wasn't the son she'd wanted, or if it's because he was different... It doesn't matter now. The Queen made sure he was kept quiet, with pills and locks, and the abduction she ordered was her last attempt to silence him.” He frowned, carefully avoiding the gaze of the princess, but he could see her hands were trembling against the table. “Silence him  _and_ save the vote.”

 

For a long minute, no one spoke. When Villa finally cleared his throat, Sergio almost jumped out of his skin. He'd forgotten the agent was there, listening silently. He answered Sergio's mistrustful glare with a serious look that had nothing of the usual smugness to it. “The Queen is expected to return from her trip to the States tonight, in about five hours.”

 

Sergio sucked in a surprised breath.  _Already!_ He turned to the princess who was staring at a distant spot above his left shoulder, completely lost in thought. “Your Highness?”

 

Nothing. He exchanged another glance with Villa, and the agent slowly reached out to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Highness.” 

 

Sergio blinked at the tone. It was strangely intimate, as was the gesture, and there was a ridiculous thought forcing its way to the foreground, but it was gone when the princess suddenly shook her head. When her cold eyes found his, Sergio knew she had already shaken off the shock. Maybe she'd always known something was wrong, but had decided not to see. Maybe her faith in her mother wasn't as strong as it should be. Maybe she'd known all along and was playing him right now. 

 

At the last thought, he frowned, his eyes searching her impassive face, but she was giving nothing away, and he decided it didn't matter which alternative was true. Not now, when he was so close to changing the tides. If she was indeed playing him, he was oblivious to the rules of the game, and he could do nothing to stop her anyway. 

 

“Your Highness. When the Queen arrives, she'll give permission to stuff him again with drugs, or worse. And this time, he will not survive it. He'd rather-” He had to swallow hard, but forced himself to continue. “He'd rather kill himself than go back to that. He'd find a way.”

 

“What do you suggest?”

 

Straight to the point, just like Fernando. Maybe the siblings had more in common than they thought. The least he could do was repay her in kind. “Let me take him away.” Not that he had any idea how to execute that plan, but the details could wait. “I have means to hide him until he's out of their reach. And I have the video as blackmail.”

 

It was strange that he didn't feel like an idiot to ask this of the princess, when he knew her for about twenty minutes, with Villa watching with his dark and inscrutable eyes. David Villa, second in command after Piqué. He must be  _insane._ “Your Highness, please-” 

 

She raised a hand to cut him off, and he immediately obeyed. “I know I'm not going to be nominated for the 'best sister of the year' award any time soon, Mr. Ramos, and I regret it deeply that it took me so long to realize something was off. When Navas tried to take him away, I knew the story I was told wasn't adding up, but I couldn't find out why. I tried to talk to my brother about it, but he... let's just say it wasn't an easy task at the time and it ended with a terrible argument.”

 

He almost groaned out loud when she started with this completely irrelevant and time-wasting story, but he knew he couldn't force her to march to the beat of his drum. He'd have to keep her in the loop, or this last chance would be wasted just like all the others before. “I can imagine.”

 

Something flashed through the princess' eyes, but it was gone before he could decipher what it was. “We haven't spoken since, and even though it hurts me to admit, I let it go. I distracted myself with my duties, avoided him, and he- well, he was on his own most of the time anyway.”

 

“He doesn't have to be, though.”

 

“No.” There it was again, that soft and sad look in her eyes. “No, he doesn't.” 

 

“I will not leave him behind, Your Highness. Not again.”

 

Their eyes locked, and the steel was back, like a switch had been flipped. He wondered if she ever shed the many masks she wore like armour. Probably not. “Your words better be true, Mr. Ramos.” She stood abruptly, but with all the aplomb of a ruler, and Sergio couldn't help but be secretly impressed. “After you.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

The list of allies grows. Or does it? ;) Thank you so much for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

— † —

 

 

“David! Finally!”

 

“Sorry. I couldn't call earlier. I was with the princess.”

 

“Are they talking?”

 

“Yeah, listen.” He lowered the phone to one of the speakers, just in time to catch the princess saying 'You used an app to record it, an app that produced a ten minute video before sending it to a pre-installed e-mail address.' “See?”

 

An impatient groan could be heard. “I'd hoped they'd made it further down the list in the meantime.”

 

“Patience, Iker. We'll come to that. The Queen doesn't arrive for another five hours.”

 

“Patience,” Iker growled. “I've been nothing but patient for the last four years, but at least I didn't have to worry one of my boys would be shot down at point-blank range!”

 

Villa rolled his eyes, unseen by his old friend, thank God. “Don't be so dramatic. I've got it under control.”

 

“ _Villa?”_

 

“Gotta go.”

 

“No, wait!”

 

“Shut up, Iker!”

 

He stuffed his phone into his back pocket and snatched the tablet up from the table. Time to get going. He left the observation room, ignored Carvajal's hostile look from down the hall and delivered the tablet to the princess. The effect on Ramos was instantaneous. A blow to the head couldn't have been a shock as terrible as the image on the screen, and the cool exterior of the guard broke into tiny pieces as he watched the prince suffer. 

 

From then on, everything was plain sailing. See, Iker, he thought smugly, everything is under control. And still, it wasn't easy to watch the princess take the news, to see the conflict play across her features. He'd known her long enough to realize how hard this revelation hit her, even though he figured she'd always known something about the sick brother story wasn't quite adding up. He offered as much comfort as he dared in front of Ramos, but on the inside, he was constantly adding up the minutes they were busy wasting with talking. When the princess finally stood, he barely managed to hold in his sigh of relief. 

 

“After you.”

 

But Ramos, curse him, didn't follow, even when he released him from the shackles that bound him to the table. “What about the cameras?”

 

Argh, he thought, he's asking about that  _now!_ “Leave that to me. They're showing a loop.” Ramos was giving the glare he was throwing at him right back, and it suddenly occurred to him that the boy was still not trusting them. “Here, there's someone who wants to talk to you.”

 

He pulled the phone from his pocket and thrust it at Ramos who took it hesitantly, as if it were a bomb. “Hello?”

 

The princess' eyes were icy cold when she pulled him around. “Who is that?!”

 

Of course she wouldn't trust him completely, even after all this time. But that was exactly what he liked about her, wasn't it: her fire and her natural suspicion of anyone else's abilities. She had a refreshing 'do it yourself' attitude, and together with her wits and her confidence, she would have made a great asset to his plan. However, with the Queen being her mother, their bond was way too close, and in the end, that proved to be the main game changer. The dark look she sent him told him she wanted to talk about this later, but was willing to put the argument on hold in favour of saving her brother, and David allowed himself a content smile.

 

His plan was working – everything else could be dealt with later on. “That,” he said, his voice maybe a bit too smug, “is outside help.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“You can trust him, Sese.”

 

“What- How-” It was frustrating the living daylights out of him that Sergio couldn't find the words to voice his confusion and the many questions he had. “What is going on here?”

 

Iker's sigh could be heard clearly down the line. “It's a long story, and I'll tell you as soon as you're safe. But now listen closely. Cesc is waiting at the hermitage west of the gardens. Go get the prince. Take Dani with you.”

 

Sergio blinked in confusion, locking eyes with Villa, hoping to find any answers there. The agent had his arms crossed, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on his elbows, but his inscrutable face was impossible to read. “But Dani will lose his job!”

 

“He won't need it when I'm done with the Queen.”

 

Sergio had a hard time keeping a straight line of thought. So many things he didn't understand, so many things he didn't know but had to keep track of, lest he didn't end up dead at the end of the day. He knew he had to end the call, do as Iker asked, but he found himself at a complete loss instead. “What-”

 

“Go. Get out of there alive. We'll take care of the rest.”

 

“Iker-”

 

“Come on.” Suddenly, there was Villa by his side, snatching his phone back out of his hands. “We don't have time to chat. I've got it, Iker. Relax.” He ended the call and then turned back to Sergio, who almost stepped back into a defensive stance. The impatience Villa was radiating was so strong it could easily be mistaken for anger. “Dani's to come with us?”

 

Sergio nodded quickly. “Yes.”

 

“Right.” Villa marched to the door and ripped it open, striding out into the hall with all the confidence of a leader. “Carvajal!” (He was a great match for the princess, Sergio thought, but hell, he had no clue where that idea came from.)

 

“...Sir?”

 

“Short version: we're going to free the prince. Iker told us you should come with. Got it?”

 

“What?” Dani's look of shock travelled in a circle from Villa to the princess to Sergio and then back to Villa. “Who the hell _are_ you?!”

 

Villa heaved an exasperated sigh. “Sergio?”

 

“He's-” Sergio trailed off, his mind still reeling. “I don't know,” he finally confessed. “But Iker told me we could trust him.”

 

Dani hesitated for a moment longer, but then he slowly nodded. “Alright.”

 

“Good. Go ahead.” Villa ushered Dani and Sergio down the corridor. “You will lead us through the servants' tunnels, since you know the way and the codes. The less I have to override, the better.”

 

As Dani opened the door to the hall outside the cell wing, Sergio risked a short glance back over his shoulder at the princess. She looked furious at being pushed around in such a blunt manner, but he guessed she'd come to the same conclusion as him. As an agent, rescue missions were Villa's home turf, while either of them would've been at a loss for what to do, so they just had to leave it to him to lead. Every word that challenged that conclusion was threatening to slow them down, and they all knew it. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Sergio was sure he could see her gaze softening before the impassive mask slipped back on. 

 

“Sergio,” Dani whispered and he snapped back to attention. The guard was standing between two servants' doors, blended into opposite walls and almost impossible to see in the dim nightlights if you didn't know they were there. “North or South? What's closer, what do you think?”

 

Sergio closed his eyes for a moment, pouring over a mental map of the palace. The North route would take longer, but most of the staff lived in the quarters facing South. A few minutes extra, but next to no danger of running into unsuspecting colleagues. Easy choice.

 

“North.”

 

They travelled in silence: Sergio – as the most reliable guide – in front, Dani right behind him. If he were to be honest, Sergio was glad he had someone he could trust with his life guarding his back. Villa was an unexpected and powerful ally, but he was also terrifying. He may be completely different from Piqué, who was masking his malice with manners and eloquence, but he was no less cunning (and no less deadly). He had to remember that, even though he couldn't help but feel relieved he wasn't alone in this anymore. 

 

When they reached the private chambers of the royals, where Sergio didn't know the codes, Villa proved useful indeed, hooking his phone up to the electric locks one by one and decrypting the key codes. Somewhere along the way, it struck Sergio as odd that there were no agents standing guard in the tunnels, but he decided to ignore this nagging feeling at the back of his mind. The Queen was to arrive soon, after all. They were probably needed elsewhere. _Or it's a trap._ Shut up. If it's a trap, I can't do anything about it anyway. _And Fernando needs you._ Yes, he needs me. Sergio closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about the prince, but he quickly opened them again when the image of Fernando, chained to the bed and whispering his name, came up unbidden. 

 

Just a few more minutes, Fernando. We're coming. 

 

“Okay,” Villa muttered under his breath, but out of his mouth, it still sounded like a command. “Last door. Be quiet now. Even though he can't move, there'll be guards at the front door to his room.”

 

When the soft click of the lock opening could be heard, Sergio almost pushed Villa out of the way in order to storm into the room and free the prince _at once._ But he knew that would be foolish and possibly the last thing he ever did, so he simply nodded at Villa when he gave him a look that said 'ready?'. The agent slowly pulled the door open and risked a glance into the room beyond before ushering them through. 

 

Sergio only managed a brief survey of Fernando's chambers, but it was enough to give him the chills. The room itself was beautiful, with its high ceilings and the fine tapestry covering the walls, and plush carpets shielding the expensive parquet flooring. At the far end, he could make out the outlines of a few pieces of furniture – a chaise longue, a pair of armchairs and a desk with a chair in front of it. They were half-hidden in the shadows, since the soft glow of the bedside lamp wasn't bright enough to lighten up the whole room, but what he saw was enough to know: there were no personal things. No books, no movies, no CDs. The choice furnishing couldn't hide the fact that this was a fancy prison, and nothing more.

 

“Oh my God.” Fernando's eyes shot open at the sound of his sister's voice, eyes unseeing, and he began struggling mindlessly against the bonds holding him down, breathless sounds of terror falling from his mouth. “We have to-”

 

Sergio's hand on her shoulder held her back. “Stop talking. Let me.”

 

The princess made a tiny sound of distress, but didn't protest outright as he quickly stepped up to the bed, loosening the fabric around Fernando's ankles without thinking about the consequences. The holdings fell off with a loud snap, and he had to jump out of the way when the prince suddenly kicked out at him. Fighting down the horror of potential exposure at the noise, he draped his body across Fernando's legs, trapping them beneath his body weight, and reached for the manacles around his wrists. He was almost thrown off when Fernando arched his back in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but he somehow managed to avoid getting hit in the face when Fernando finally pulled his hands free. Ducking his head beneath a stiff and uncoordinated punch, he simply grabbed the prince by the elbows and pulled him into a tight embrace.

 

Fernando gasped loudly when his face got smashed into the crook of Sergio's neck, and then he stilled completely. Sergio didn't even dare move when the prince just sat there, arms hanging loosely at his sides, breathing into his hair. But then his hands came up to clutch at his back and return the embrace. “Sergio,” Fernando whispered, voice hoarse from screaming and heavy with the threat of tears. “I thought you were dead!”

 

“I'm not.” He raised a hand to gently cup the back of Fernando's head, fingertips scratching at the short stubble. “I'm not. I'm gonna get you out.”

 

“Fernando?”

 

Within a second, Fernando's body went from peaceful and relaxed to ready to fight and hard as steel, and his head whipped around quick as a snake as he focused on the princess, completely oblivious to the men standing beside her. Sergio had tensed with him, ready to step in between the siblings should the need arise, but in the end, it wasn't necessary. With a barely audible snarl, Fernando shifted in Sergio's arms, somehow pulling back and pushing closer at the same time – betrayed feelings and sought protection all rolled into one.

 

“She's not to trust, Sergio.”

 

The princess opened her mouth, no doubt to give an impressive retort, and Sergio decided to intervene after all. “It wasn't my choice, Fernando. Your sister came to me. And if she hadn't, I'd still be rotting away in a cell.” 

 

Fernando blinked and when he turned back to Sergio, it was as if he were seeing him for the first time. “My sister? I'm not talking about my _sister.”_

 

Sergio frowned, trying to read the meaning of his words in Fernando's eyes. But there was only honest confusion. Confusion, underlaid by fear. “But who-”

 

“I'm afraid my son is talking about me, Mr. Ramos.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sorry for yet another cruel cliffhanger! I can't keep my hands off those. ^^  Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A merry and exciting Clásico to everyone! Without any red cards, brawls or terrible dives. ~~Yeah. Right. xD~~  
>  Hala Madrid! :)

— † —

 

 

It was a surreal situation for sure, but if someone had told him a week ago he would stumble upon an abduction of the prince, become his only ally, and befriend the royal son on top of it all, he'd have laughed out loud and told them to sell their story to a comic publishing house. And yet, sitting on Fernando's bed, with said prince clinging to him and staring over his shoulder at the Queen with hatred so absolute... He could only watch, his mind absurdly empty, as the ruler of his country, _his_ ruler, slowly and graciously sat down in the armchair across from him on the other side of the bed. 

 

When a few more reading lamps were lit, flooding the room with light, he had to narrow his eyes against the sudden brightness, but she didn't even flinch. Even though he knew it might be a mistake to take his eyes off her, he couldn't help but scan the room for threats. Of course, the Queen's two personal bodyguards were there, guns in hand. And then, leaning against the wall next to the door – Piqué. The agent didn't exactly look triumphant, and Sergio wondered what the Queen had to say about the shambolic way this supposedly clean mission had gone down.

 

“Mr. Ramos, if I may call for your attention.” A tiny shudder ran down Fernando's frame at the sound of her voice. Sergio involuntarily tightened his embrace and felt him calm again, even though his breathing had noticeably picked up. The Queen's sharp gaze ran down his arms and then back up to his face, and his stomach churned when he realized she didn't miss it. “I must say I'm impressed. And I wonder about the mistake my supervisors made, to dismiss your application so easily.”

 

It was clear she was expecting an answer, but it took Sergio two seconds, or maybe three, to come up with the courage needed to talk back to the highest ranking person there was in his country. He was living in that exact moment, oblivious to everything else. He'd forgotten about Dani, about Villa and the princess, about their backup outside, about their plan to free Fernando. It had become meaningless in the face of the ultimate defeat, and he sat like a rabbit before the snake, unable to think of a way out. There was nothing on his mind but the feeling of Fernando in his arms and the answer he was about to give. Fighting was useless, anyway, and Sergio was glad they seemed to have come to that silent agreement. For now, Fernando was limiting his rage to just glowering at the Queen from the safety of his embrace. It definitely made it easier to focus on the conversation at hand. 

 

He finally gathered the guts to speak. “I believe this _mistake_ proved to be a blessing.”

 

She inclined her head, thinking about his answer – or maybe the best way to make him disappear, he couldn't tell. He could read absolutely nothing in her blank face, and it was a talent he came to appreciate less and less in his dealings with the royal family members. “Do you know why it was dismissed?”

 

He hesitated for a moment, unsure where this line of questioning was headed. “Because I had no recommendation.”

 

She immediately shook her head, a subtle smile raising one corner of her mouth. “No, even though that is the reason in many a case. But no, your application was dismissed because you were acquainted with a personal... let's say... nuisance of mine.” Sergio frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He couldn't for the life of him- “Iker Casillas, Mr. Ramos. That is the name you are looking for. It was a mistake to think we were blind to the nature of your upbringing.” He couldn't keep the surprise away from his face, not for her keen eyes anyway, and she smiled again. “You have no idea, do you? About his schemes?”

 

The initial 's' of repeating the unexpected word was already sounding in the roof of his mouth before he could stop himself from asking. There was no point in pretending he knew what she was referring to, so he tried to deflect the question with a weak show of loyalty. “It doesn't change anything for me.” 

 

“I didn't think it would. But I suppose you would like to know the reason for your misfortune. Did you think it was by accident that you were chosen to be the pawn in this game? Well, it was not.”

 

The urge to ask was almost unbearable, and Sergio was _this_ close to giving in. Fernando seemed to sense it, because he chose that moment to curl further into his arms, pressing his nose to his cheek, close to his ear. “Don't listen to her,” he whispered. “It's always lies and poison, nothing more.”

 

The Queen was intrigued, Sergio could tell by the interested gleam in her eyes, and he suddenly wished their close bond wasn't so obvious. It could be turned against them, in the most gruesome ways possible, and he was in no position to prevent it. “I must admit I didn't believe it when Piqué told me how quickly my son had let you in, past the impenetrable walls that the rest of us have been trying to scale in vain year in and year out. But now that I'm witnessing it with my own eyes, it is quite the interesting exception he made with you.”

 

“Mother-”

 

The Queen's eyes flicked over to her daughter, almost casually so, but the frigid look she gave her had everyone in the room hold their breath – the princess included, who immediately dropped her gaze and fell silent. Sergio was caught up between pity and disappointment. He wondered where the fire – and determination – in her eyes had gone, but then again, going against her own mother... Fernando, however, wasn't so easily put to obedience. Not anymore. 

 

“To be completely honest with you, _Mother_ – even though I believe you wouldn't understand either way – I didn't have a say in letting anybody in or not. You made sure there was nothing _but_ the walls, posing as an empty shell.”

 

The Queen didn't bat an eyelid at his venomous tone. “Every decision I made was in service of your own good.” 

 

It sounded like an old excuse, just as old as the quarrel between them, and Fernando could only smile ruefully when she recited it in an even tone, like she actually believed in it. “If it agrees with you, I would like to take my _own_ good into my _own_ hands.” 

 

The Queen stood and straightened her skirt, as if she were bored by a particularly dry conversation about flower arrangements. She towered above them, fixing them with an unreadable gaze that sent terrified shivers down Sergio's spine. “No, I'm afraid it does not.”

 

“We have a video.”

 

To his credit, Dani didn't avoid his gaze but raised his chin instead when the Queen turned her attention to him. “I know you do, Mr. Carvajal, but I'm afraid blackmail works both ways.”

 

“So what?” Fernando struggled to his feet, hands balled into fists. His legs were protesting against his weight after being tied down for so long, and it was only Sergio's quick reflexes that saved him from falling, fingers curling around his thin waist to steady him as he followed him off the bed. The bodyguards immediately had their guns trained on them, but the Queen held up a hand and they stopped, weapons hovering uncertainly in mid-air. “What does that mean? You're going to lock us all up?”

 

The Queen held his accusing glare easily. “Yes. For now.” She heaved a sigh and then turned to the door. “Mari, come.”

 

“No.”

 

The Queen paused, but didn't turn back. “Mari, please.”

 

The princess shook her head, and her face was frozen in a mask of defiance, even though tears were burning in her eyes. “No. I will not turn my back on your crimes, Mother. Because that's exactly what they are.” 

 

The Queen nodded and then straightened her back. “I see. Agent Villa, I trust you to sort this out. Report when it's done.” 

 

Villa respectfully inclined his head as he watched her retreat, followed by one of her bodyguards. The other stayed right where he was, watching Villa for any signs of a command. Fucking dogs, Sergio found himself thinking bitterly, and the notion caught him off-guard. Only a few days ago, he'd given everything he had to be just like them, and even after the nightmare he'd been through, it was strange to watch his dream turn soiled and blackened by reality. 

 

“Now.” Villa's voice tore him out of his musings, and he turned just in time to see the agent reaching for his gun. “Let's sort this out.”

 

The way he did it was way too slow and too casual for someone who was about to go up against two armed opponents, and Sergio instinctively pulled Fernando closer to him as he waited for the inevitable firefight to break out. But when Villa pointed the gun at Piqué, the Queen's bodyguard mirrored the motion without hesitation, and even though Sergio had no idea how far Iker's influence could actually reach, that just seemed wrong. Piqué seemed to think so too, because he straightened up with a surprised snort of disbelief, his gaze swinging back and forth between the two guns pointed at his head. 

 

“What the fuck is going on?!”

 

Villa gave him a lazy grin. “It never occurred to you that everything you did was working against you?” He deliberately threw Piqué's own words back at him, Sergio was sure of it, but he didn't see the point. “Okay, maybe not going down with the helicopter. That was _not_ part of the plan, I guess.”

 

Piqué balled his hands into fists and then relaxed them again, his usually smug demeanour replaced by genuine confusion and anger. “What the hell are you talking about, Villa?”

 

“You played your part in this drama, and you played it well. But now it's time for the curtain to fall.” The clicking sound was unnaturally loud in the silence as Villa released the safety catch on his gun. “Every tale needs a Judas, Gerard.”

 

Piqué's unsettled eyes locked on Sergio. “But I thought-”

 

“You thought wrong. You've become arrogant, Piqué, and careless. A liability.”

 

“What?!” Piqué laughed loudly, but it didn't sound half as confident as he'd certainly hoped it would. “I thought we were going to take down Casillas.”

 

Villa shook his head and gave him a sympathetic smile. “We are. But you know, there's this saying about two birds and one stone.” He hummed as if deep in thought. “I can't remember it now, but you catch my drift, don't you?”

 

“Well, I don't,” Dani cut in. “What is this about taking Iker down?”

 

Villa answered with a half-hearted shrug. “It can't be helped. He's too involved in this mess, has been for way too long.”

 

“What are you saying? That you fed him fake intel?”

 

Villa's smile stayed on. “I did what I had to do. Iker would understand. He knows what it's like to make sacrifices.” Dani's whole body tensed, and he looked ready to resort to violence – physical, too, if necessary – but Villa simply ignored him and addressed the princess instead. “Your Highness, I suggest you take your leave.” The princess didn't move, her face the same stony expression her mother had perfected, but her body language was no different from Dani's. Villa seemed to realize it, too, because he tried to stave off the incoming storm. “Highness, I will explain later. But now-”

 

“Now you expect me to turn my back on an _execution?!_ Are you fucking _kidding me?”_

 

It was the first time Sergio had heard her swear, and he found she had the most intimidating way of doing it, but secretly, he was hoping she would take the easy way out that Villa offered her. Fernando was quicker than him to voice that thought, though. “Mari, please,” he said, and his voice was so soft Sergio was afraid she wouldn't catch it. Her dark frown was proving him wrong. “You have no part in this.” 

 

“I have no part in this,” she repeated, incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?!” Fernando flinched, and she looked like she was about to take it back, but in the end, she decided against it. Now wasn't the time for apologies. “Fernando, I can't- What do you expect me to do? Just return to my old life while this-” She turned to Villa, and a flash of deep hurt mixed with the anger in her expression. “-treacherous bastard does who knows what to you?”

 

“What about me?” Piqué crossed his arms, the irritation in his eyes easily matching hers. “I'm a victim, too.”

 

The princess whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You are no more a victim than I am, Agent Piqué! We all have a part in this and I will see to it that-”

 

She didn't get to finish her sentence. With a quick step forward, Villa was right behind her, a thin syringe in hand, and he didn't waste a second to seize the advantage of surprise. He didn't count on Dani being faster than him, though. His solid punch met Villa's wrist and the agent let go of the injection with an angry shout. The princess was pulled out of his reach, and when he looked up, cradling his bruised wrist to his chest, he stared right down the barrel of Dani's gun.

 

The guard pushed the princess behind him into Fernando's arms without taking his eyes off Villa and inclined his head towards the Queen's bodyguard who had his weapon trained on his temple. “Tell him to deliver his gun.” 

 

Villa gritted his teeth, but he wouldn't be cowed so easily. It wasn't the first gun aimed at his head after all. “You sure you can pull this off, pup?” He watched with dark amusement as Dani's fingers trembled in their white-knuckled grip on the trigger. “The way I see it, this is a classic Mexican stand-off. We could stand here all day, right?”

 

Dani frowned, but didn't rise to meet the bait. In the end, it wasn't necessary. The tiny noise of surprise from the Queen's bodyguard was the only warning they got before all hell broke loose. With Villa and the bodyguard distracted, Piqué had obviously decided that now that was the time to shoot his way free. As the cracks of bullets being released filled the air around them, Sergio instinctively flew into survival mode. He wrapped his arms around Fernando and the princess, pushing them forward towards the servants' door, still standing slightly ajar in the wall. 

 

“Dani!”

 

Sergio didn't turn around to check if Dani understood and covered their retreat with his gun, didn't check if someone was aiming to shoot at them. He didn't dare focus on anything but their escape route and the single goal of ushering Fernando and his sister to safety. They'd almost made it when something hit Sergio straight through his right shoulder blade. White-hot pain exploded in his shoulder as the bone shattered like glass, and with a strangled shout, he fell across the threshold. He barely registered the bang of the door falling shut and the sounds of Dani smashing the lock with the handle of his gun, because all he could think was _fucking HELL!_

 

He'd never been shot before, so all the theories he had were based on TV. The heroes in action movies got shot all the time after all, and they were able to function with only slight disadvantages. Lies. Fucking _lies!_ The pain was so all-consuming that, for a long and terrible moment, he could do nothing but lie there. His shoulder was on fire, and the flames were quickly spreading along his upper body, until he couldn't even breathe anymore. He gulped for air that wasn't there, eyes wide but taking in nothing. Oh God, _oh God!_

 

A voice cut through the grip of panic on his mind. “Sergio! Sergio, focus!” He knew that voice, he knew who it belonged to, but he couldn't- There was not a single clear thought in his head, only pain. So much pain. And then it exploded in his right cheek as well, and his eyes shot open. “Sergio!” Fernando's terrified face slowly swam into view. “Sergio, can you hear me?”

 

“Yeah,” he slurred. _What the hell?!_ “I think I got shot.”

 

Fernando didn't smile. “You got that right, you oaf!”

 

“Stop fooling around! We gotta go!” 

 

Dani. Sergio groaned as his circulation decided to drop out and his head fell back, too heavy to keep it upright. Someone was shouting orders, he didn't know who, then there was an argument, he didn't care about what. All of a sudden, hands were pulling at him, hoisting him to his feet, and he cried out in agony. His knees wobbled and then gave way, and if it weren't for Fernando and Dani holding him up, he would have folded in half without any resistance. The tunnel began to spin, the half-darkness melting into blazing colours, red and yellow and blue and white and everything in between, and he had to shut his eyes tightly so he wouldn't throw up the meagre dinner he'd been given hours ago. 

 

As he tried to keep up with Fernando and Dani, he barely registered anything but the pain boiling in his shoulder. He could feel the bullet in there, grinding against the bone, and the thought almost made him pass out. No, _no!_ He couldn't give up so easily, not now. They stopped at a door – was it the first one? Or had they already passed others? He had no idea how long they'd been stumbling through this bloody maze. 

 

With great effort, he raised his head and forced his tongue to move. “Codes?”

 

“I saved them in my phone when Villa cracked them,” Dani huffed out, straining against his weight, and then nodded at Fernando to move forward as the princess pushed the door open before them. 

 

“You're a genius.”

 

That actually made Dani smile, but the moment was gone too quickly and he turned back to being focused on not letting him slip from his grasp. “I know. Now shut up and save your breath.”

 

“Kay.” 

 

He sank back into pursuing the single goal of keeping his feet working beneath him and clinging to Fernando and Dani to make it easier for them, but he felt their strength draining quickly, just like his own. Soon enough, he couldn't keep his head up anymore, and the rest of his body immediately followed. Fernando and Dani weren't able to hold on to him as he suddenly tipped over, and the sound of his knees hitting the tiles echoed off the walls, along with Fernando's surprised gasp.

 

“Sergio!”

 

He blinked his eyes open, only to find the ceiling spreading out in every direction above him. Huh. Then there was Fernando, eyes wide with worry. The prince swept some wet strands away from his sweaty brow, and Sergio unconsciously leant into his touch. “Can't go on. Can't.”

 

Dani joined Fernando in his field of vision. “Just a few more steps, okay? The rooms in the tunnel just behind the next door are unoccupied, we can rest there.”

 

“Is that wise?” 

 

Dani turned to the princess. “No, Your Highness.”

 

“Mari.”

 

Dani hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded. “Mari. I'm afraid it's anything but wise. But he can't go on, and we can't carry him all the way down to the West Wing, either. We _have_ to rest.”

 

Sergio almost swore out loud when they pulled him up again, but he got it under control just in time. For _fuck's sake!_ But Dani had been right, there was indeed an empty room in the next tunnel that hadn't been used in a while. Immense relief flooded through his veins, forcing the pain to take a backseat for a second or two, when he was set down on a soft bed. He finally risked opening his eyes, watching as Dani came back from the bathroom with a first aid kit in hand.

 

“Thank God for standard equipment,” the guard muttered and tore open the lid, lining up the things he would need to patch him up. “Fernando.” There was a question in there, but Fernando didn't object to his given name and nodded for him to continue. “Help me get this off.”

 

Sergio barely managed to cling to consciousness when they peeled the leather jacket off his back and the shirt beneath, which was sticky with blood. He tried to catch a glimpse of the wound as soon as he could safely open his eyes again, but Fernando guessed his intention and caught him with a hand to his cheek. The prince turned his head around until he was nestled up against Fernando's chest, his injured shoulder facing Dani. 

 

“Don't look,” Fernando urged, and the terror in his voice indicated he regretted he had. “What should I do?”

 

“Keep him still. I can't remove the bullet, but I have to stop the blood flow with a pressure bandage. Sergio, it will hurt like hell, but just try and stay awake, okay?”

 

“Ok-”

 

He didn't even get to finish the affirmative before Dani went to work and the pain immediately kicked him over the edge of consciousness. The only thing that accompanied him into the black abyss was the sound of Fernando's heart beating in an unsteady rhythm against his ear, with his frantic voice a distant hum that quickly faded into silence. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Again, trouble found Sergio, and I'm afraid it's not going to leave any time soon. Thank you so much for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, has it really been two months?! oO I apologize to all of you for the long delay! Unfortunately, I won't be able to post regularly from now on, due to the first full-time job of my life (which is great, but it sucks in terms of much less writing time). Anyway, this story will be finished, don't worry! It might take a while, but I will see this through, promise!   
> Thank you so much for your patience! I hope this is worth the wait. :)

— † —

 

 

“What happened?”

 

“Before or after your mother tried to kill me?”

 

“Fernando-”

 

The prince didn't turn around, didn't take his eyes off Sergio, who lay curled up against him on his good side. Still, the slight straightening of his shoulders was enough to cut Mari off, and Dani wondered how much tension and hurt was standing between them, and how fragile the bond between the siblings actually was for the straightforward princess to be intimidated into silence so easily. Fernando finally turned, and Dani couldn't stand the raw look in his eyes for long. He immediately felt like an intruder to a very intimate – and very overdue – conversation between brother and sister, but he had nowhere else to go, so he simply turned towards the window as an awkward attempt at giving them some privacy.

 

Mari softly cleared her throat and tried again. “Fernando, listen-”

 

“What's done is done.” For a short moment, intense anger had flared up in Fernando's voice. “Let it go, Mari. _Please.”_

 

There was a long pause. Dani could see their reflections in the black glass of the window just looking at each other, neither of them moving. It was impossible to tell whether they were searching for a point of attack or a place to hide. “Alright.” It wasn't difficult to hear how hard it was for her to give in. “But at least tell me what happened...?”

 

Fernando dipped his chin in thanks, grateful for her surrender and the change of topic. “I remember waking up in a moving car, with a hood over my head. One of his colleagues, Martin I think, he was driving, and Sergio was already with him. But I could tell he had no idea what was going on.” When he looked down at the guard, his expression softened until it was very close to fond. “He saved me countless times, but others weren't so lucky. Martin died following the helicopter crash. Piqué had shot the pilot. He killed an agent, too, and-” Here, he hesitated, and Dani could tell he had to force himself to go on. “And Jesús.”

 

_Wait a minute..._ Dani quickly turned around. “Navas? Jesús Navas?” 

 

Fernando's eyes narrowed as he stared him down. “You knew him?”

 

“He was supposed to meet up with us after... after getting you out a while back.”

 

The look in Fernando's eyes grew murderous, and he looked like he might want to get right up in Dani's face, but he obviously didn't dare move so he wouldn't wake Sergio. “And you didn't bother to investigate why that was? That _is_ what you are, isn't it? Investigative journalists?”

 

The mocking tone with which he spat out the last two words rubbed Dani entirely the wrong way, even though he couldn't deny he did feel guilty. He knew nothing of what had happened between Fernando and his mother, of course, but what he'd heard and seen so far was enough to piece together a picture of life-long abuse. Still- “We didn't even know if his wild tale was actually true! As you've seen, there are not many people we can trust in this business!”

 

“You couldn't even trust me, right?”

 

Sergio's soft voice easily stopped Fernando's no doubt angry retort from happening, and Dani watched, amazed, as his focus shifted entirely to Sergio, their argument immediately forgotten. His whole body language changed from ready to throw a punch to gentle and even loving almost faster than his eyes could follow, and it threw Dani for a loop. 

 

Sergio blinked up at Fernando and gave him a weak smile. “Help me up?”

 

Dani was going to protest, but the words got stuck in his throat yet again as he watched Fernando manoeuvre Sergio into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, careful not to justle his right arm they had bound close to his side and across his stomach. It seemed like he had underestimated the connection between them, reaching far beyond a partnership of convenience, of survival. Because this, this was something else entirely.

 

Sergio was leaning heavily into the loose hold Fernando had on him, but his eyes were clear when he fixed them on Dani. “Why didn't Iker tell me?”

 

He didn't even have to elaborate. Dani had known this conversation would come up eventually, but he certainly didn't think he would be the one to fight that particular battle. Damn. “Iker thought it would be safer for you to think he was still going up against illegal dealings of corporations and NGOs.”

 

“He was after the Queen herself, though.”

 

“Yeah, exactly.”

 

“But you knew. You and Cesc?” Sergio stopped and then chuckled softly as understanding darkened his face. “Shit, you were in on it too, weren't you?”

 

“Yeah. But if I'd known it would lead to this mess, I wouldn't have agreed to keeping this from you.” 

 

He was aware it was a lame excuse, and entirely pointless, but he still felt better when Sergio gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement. “I know.”

 

The princess suddenly cleared her throat, and Dani noted her voice was carefully kept flat and emotionless when she spoke. “What about Villa?”

 

Dani shook his head, clamping down on the anger threatening to surface at the mention of that bastard's name. He was sure Iker had his reasons to keep quiet about Villa's involvement in their operation, but it didn't change the disastrous way it had played out for them. “Cesc and I didn't know about him. But I guess it doesn't matter. Iker trusted him, and that's why we trusted him, too.”

 

Mari nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer, but Dani could see she hadn't really been paying attention to his words. Instead, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, and by the look of it, they weren't all too happy. For Dani and Sergio, and probably for Fernando too, Villa had just been another enemy, another agent after their lives, and his turning on them was simply a massive setback in their attempt to escape. But the princess had been closer to him, that much he'd deduced from seeing them together, and for her, it must've been a personal betrayal that actually hurt. 

 

There would be time to nurse that pain, but right now, there were more important matters at hand. Like getting out of the woods. “Sergio, do you think you can walk?”

 

Sergio thought about it for a moment, but then he nodded. “I think so.” He let Fernando drag his left arm across his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Ready.”

 

As soon as Fernando had settled them on their feet, Sergio's breathing grew shallow and he suddenly appeared a few shades paler than before, but the collapse Dani feared didn't come. Instead, the guard straightened his spine and took a few small test steps towards the door. He grew more certain with every move he made, and the knot in Dani's chest slowly unravelled. They may yet make it.

 

“Okay, let's go.”

 

“I can't go with you.”

 

Everyone turned to Mari with the same look of startled confusion on their faces, and Dani decided to say what they were all thinking. “What?”

 

The princess only had eyes for Fernando, though. “I have to speak with her. I have to know why. And maybe... maybe I can convince her to let you go.”

 

“Mari.” Fernando almost choked on her name. “It's no use. Just come with us.”

 

She slowly shook her head, a small smile pulling at her mouth despite her grave expression. Dani looked back and forth between the princess and her brother, expecting them to embrace, make up, and maybe the prince would argue and plead with her to reconsider. But there was nothing of the sort, just another long look he couldn't decipher before Fernando set his jaw and dropped his gaze. There was a twinge in his stomach at the idea of her walking right up to her mother, without any backup and only armed with fancy words. It just felt incredibly wrong.

 

“I'm coming with you then.”

 

Now it was Mari's turn to protest. “No! It's far too dangerous-”

 

“Which is why I offered.”

 

“But they won't make it without-”

 

“It hurts like hell, but thanks to the painkillers, I am able to walk. We'll be careful.”

 

The princess shot Sergio a nasty look that had him duck his head, but when she turned back to Dani, he could see it in her face: she knew she wouldn't gain higher ground in this. So with a heavy sigh, she surrendered. “I'm afraid you will regret this.”

 

“Duly noted.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Since Iker preferred thinking to talking, he was very fond of silence. But even he had to admit there were good silences and bad silences. The one he had to endure right now definitely belonged to the latter category, the kind where old friends met up only to realize they had nothing to say to one another. Well, if one of them was holding a grudge against the other, it was even worse. And that was exactly where the current silence sat on the scale of uncomfortable silences. In other words, right at the top. 

 

René hadn't said a word to him since walking off the train and exchanging a terse greeting. He hadn't said anything when Iker explained the plan to him, Cesc and Dani (if you could even call it a plan – Iker wasn't so sure), and he hadn't said anything when they had split up, and especially not when Iker had parked the car in a low-key spot where they could keep watch over the whole front of the palace. 

 

They'd been sitting there for about one and a half hours already, and still: not a word. But René didn't need words to convey the silent wrath he carried around with him – Iker could feel the accusing vibrations sent in his direction all too clearly. Not that he begged to differ with the older Ramos brother, he was blaming himself for the whole disaster of an operation anyway. But he tried to remind himself that, despite the shitty plan he'd come up with, at least David was with his boys. And the princess. That must count for something. Besides, how heavily guarded could a bound man be? Not to mention the early hour – the tunnels and hallways of the palace shouldn't be too crowded at 4am in the morning, right?

 

The vibrating of his phone suddenly filled the silence in the car, and even René abandoned glaring out the window to check the caller ID. Iker almost dropped the phone in his haste to put the call on speaker. “Dani!”

 

“Iker!” That didn't sound good. “Villa, he betrayed us.”

 

Iker's jaw dropped open and he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with René. “Wha-”

 

“Don't ask. He not only turned on us, but on Piqué, too. Seems like that has been his plan all along, and getting back at you was just a bonus. Or is it the other way around? Anyway. We managed to escape when they started shooting at one another. I saw Piqué getting hit, but I have no idea if he's dead.”

 

“But-”

 

“What's worse is that Sergio got shot, too.” Iker quickly closed his eyes to escape René's glare that promised bloody murder. “In the shoulder. I could stop the blood flow and I'm pretty sure he'll live.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“We split up. Sergio and Fernando are on their way out to Cesc, and I went with the princess to confront the Queen.”

 

“You-” _No._ “Dani! The Queen is well out of your league! I can't allow-”

 

“Well, I'm not asking you.” Dani sighed and when he spoke again, his voice had a pacifying lilt. “Iker, we gotta try and get her to call off her dogs. Or we're all gonna be dead tomorrow. That or imprisoned.”

 

Iker pulled a hand down his face, his mind completely blank. He had no idea what to say. There was no plan, no strategy. Every step he'd taken in the past few years had brought them closer to this final act, and now his boys were going to pay for his mistakes. “Dani, let me go instead. Find a way in for me, and I'm going to-”

 

“No. Listen, I know what I'm doing. Go get Sese and the prince. And tell Cesc I'm going to be fine.”

 

“Dani-”

 

The soft click of an ended call cut him off and he stared down at the screen, Dani's profile picture smiling back at him. “He just-”

 

“I know.” René looked like he might like to add something else, but then he just pushed the car door open. “You heard him. Come on.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“I guess he didn't like the idea.”

 

“No.”

 

“Me, neither, by the way.”

 

Dani barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I know.”

 

Mari gave him a knowing look, but decided not to comment on it. “Quiet, now. Two more crossings, then right. There's only one door, and one guard.”

 

Dani nodded and tightened his grip on the gun. He'd rather not threaten colleagues, but if that was what it took, he'd do it. His family always came first, then his duties as a royal guard – the rest didn't matter. Still, so far they'd been lucky, and he didn't have to put that resolve to the test yet. They hadn't run into any guards on their way to the Queen's private chambers, and he couldn't hide his relief when he peered around the corner and found the short hallway empty.

 

“No guard.”

 

The princess raised her eyebrows at him and then pushed him back so she could see for herself. “That is... unexpected,” she muttered. “And not good.”

 

“You think something's off?”

 

“This door is guarded every minute of the day. And there should've been more guards around the hallways, too. This is too easy.”

 

Dani hummed in agreement. He couldn't argue that. “We should have a look, though.”

 

Mari nodded and slowly rounded the corner, keeping close to the wall so Dani could overtake her. He switched the gun to one hand when he reached the door, and carefully pulled down the handle. Unlocked. So far, so good. There were no lights on in the small anteroom beyond, and in the dim light falling in from the hallway, he could see no movement. There were only a few armchairs standing in a semi-circle, and a small dresser. 

 

He turned back to Mari for instructions, and she motioned for him to walk on to the door in the opposite wall. There was cold sweat spreading on his brow, and his heart beat like it was about to jump right out of his chest, but Dani forced his breathing to stay calm. He would _not_ prove the princess right and regret his decision to go with her. With a nod at Mari, he raised the gun, and she pulled open the door. The light flooding through the doorway had him narrow his eyes, and when he'd finally blinked away the bright spots from his vision, he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

“Mother!”

 

Dani almost wasn't fast enough to catch her, but he somehow managed to get a hold of Mari before she could step forward, and into the line of fire. She had only eyes for her mother, sitting stiffly in an armchair, her face the usual inscrutable mask, but Dani had seen the gun in Villa's hands, pointed at him now instead of – he frowned in confusion. Surely he hadn't seen that right. He pulled the princess behind him and kept his hold on her just to be sure. 

 

“We've had this before, pup.” There was an amused glint in Villa's eyes as he peered down the barrel of Dani's gun. “This is going nowhere. Besides, we are on the same side.”

 

This time, Dani's finger on the trigger didn't waver as he glared at Villa. “I highly doubt that.”

 

“Do you now?” 

 

“Last time I checked, I was with Iker, and you were... well, you were with you. And the Queen.”

 

“Hmm...” Villa tilted his head as if he were listening to a voice only he could hear. “You see, you got that wrong already.” He dropped the gun to the Queen's temple so fast Dani couldn't even consider pulling the trigger as Mari exhaled in a sharp gasp behind him. “Iker and I always wanted the same, but we favoured different approaches to achieving this goal. His methods will only get you so far, and they are vulnerable, as you have seen. My own methods are coming along nicely, though, and tonight, I will make sure all the hard work of the past few years will actually pay off.”

 

Dani couldn't believe Villa was hinting at what he thought he was hinting at. He broke eye contact with the agent for a second, locking eyes with the Queen instead, and the answer was already there before he even asked. “You... are planning on _killing_ her?”

 

“No!” Dani could feel Mari's fingers catching in his uniform jacket, her grip very close to painful, but she didn't dare move out of his cover for fear of provoking Villa into pulling the trigger. “David, please...”

 

Villa leant back so he could look her in the eye, and for the first time, his expression held something akin to regret. “It's a shame, you know. Eventually, I cared more than I should have. But I've been planning this for so long, and besides, this isn't about a single one of us. It's about a country, and a people, and I'm not going to let down either.”

 

Mari was standing so close to him, Dani could feel the shudder running down her frame, the hitch in her breath as she tried to hold back tears – of fear or anger, he couldn't tell. It seemed like they'd been even closer than he'd thought. _Bloody bastard._ He took a tiny step to the side to block Villa's line of sight, and raised his gun to let him know he wasn't afraid to use it. “You planned everything? Keeping the prince in chains? The abduction?”

 

Villa grinned and tutted at him. “I'm not the villain here, Dani. I'm not to blame for everything, you know.”

 

Dani opened his mouth to retort, but his own mind bet him to it, and all the hints and allusions stuck together to form a bigger picture. So the Queen was indeed solely responsible for Fernando's sufferings. But he couldn't believe it, not entirely. What kind of mother would do such horrible things to their own child? The doubts seemed to be clear in his eyes, because Villa's grin only got wider as he nudged the Queen's temple with the barrel of his gun. 

 

“Your Majesty, don't you want to enlighten the poor guy? Tell him what you've done?”

 

The Queen had her lips pressed into a tight line, and she looked quite ready to scratch his eyes out, but another none too gentle shove from Villa made her obey, albeit reluctantly. “I'm afraid he speaks the truth, Mr. Carvajal. The mistakes made in Fernando's upbringing are my mistakes alone, and I assume full responsibility for them.” The formal, business-like tone of her voice made his skin crawl, and Dani suddenly wished she would stop. “I am aware there were better ways of treating his shortcomings instead of repressing them, but I-”

 

“Shortcomings?” Mari strained against Dani's grip until he had to let her go lest he lose his focus on Villa, and she took a quick step to the side so she could look her mother in the eye. “There was nothing wrong with Fernando!”

 

“Oh, Mari.” The Queen smiled a tight, rueful smile, and she seemed to have forgotten about the gun pointing at her temple as her gaze was caught in memories only she could see. “He was such an unruly child. There was not a single piece of your father's kindness in him, nor of his gentleness. Instead, he was angry, and defiant, traits his mother-” She quickly caught herself, but Mari didn't miss a beat. 

 

“ _You_ were supposed to be his mother.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if she didn't have the strength to speak any louder, and even Villa strained his ears so he wouldn't miss anything, obviously very much interested in the family drama playing out before his eyes. A drama he was surely going to use for his advantage, Dani thought darkly. _“You_ were supposed to be kind and gentle. Does it really come as a surprise to you that he only mirrored the anger and the pain you were drowning him in?”

 

“Is that what you think of me? That I neglected my duties as a mother?”

 

“I don't think drugging someone out of his mind for years is part of your duties as a _stepmother_.”

 

Her words struck the Queen like a whip. Her face turned deathly pale as she stared at her daughter, surprise and hurt blending into each other. “How,” she whispered hoarsely. “How long have you known?”

 

The princess faltered for a second, swayed by the unexpected agony in her mother's voice, but she couldn't stop now. She owed that to Fernando, at the very least. “It doesn't matter. Mother, why did you never stop to think about what you were doing to him?”

 

“Mari.” The Queen had to force the word out, as if the few letters caused her unbearable pain, and even Dani couldn't help but feel sorry for her, if only for a moment. “I couldn't go back. In his wrath, he would've gone public, would've destroyed everything our ancestors had been working so hard for for over two hundred years. Don't you see I had to choose the lesser of two evils?”

 

“Mother.” The pain was reflected in Mari's voice, and there were tears too. “I don't-”

 

“Okay.” Villa impatiently checked his phone as he cut her off, his gun pressing closer to the Queen's temple. “Let me cut this short. Like I said, there's a plan, and the right timing is essential.”

 

Dani set his jaw as the urge to simply pull the trigger became overwhelming. But he needed Villa to keep talking, keep wasting time, keep revealing his intentions. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

Villa just grinned at him, sure of his triumph, and Dani distracted himself with thoughts of how he would punch that smirk right off his face, given the chance. “What, you think I should just pull the trigger and be done with it? It's not that simple, you see. Killing somebody in a deserted room is not going to do. We want to send a message, so it's gotta be bigger than that.”

 

“What kind of message?”

 

“I'm sure you were wondering about the absence of guards in the palace? Well, that's because they've been busy organizing the fire drill we've scheduled for today and-” He pressed a button on his phone. “-which is going to start right now.”

 

The fire alarm sounded just a second later, and as he stared at Villa, the plan of the agent suddenly became painfully clear to Dani. “You're going to burn down the palace.”

 

“Brilliant, Carvajal. Finally, you're using your brain.”

 

“With us in it.”

 

“Yes. You and me and Her Majesty. And her beautiful successor, of course.”

 

Dani fought the urge to close his eyes in horror. A tremor ran down his arm, and he gripped the gun tighter. “Why stage this farce, though? Why not simply blow it up?”

 

Villa chuckled softly, as if Dani was a clueless child. “Didn't you listen to me? I'm doing this for our people, so why should I blow them up?” He paused and made a show of sizing him up. “You though... I guess _you_ could be called collateral damage.”

 

“You're insane.”

 

“No. I'm the only one thinking clearly.” He checked his phone again. “You've got a few minutes left to think about what you're going to say to your maker. Don't waste them.”

 

Dani's mind was racing. Shoot, not shoot. The Queen would definitely die either way, but at least he could save Mari, and himself too. But Villa would see it coming, wouldn't he? He'd be able to see the decision in his eyes, and maybe he wouldn't be fast enough to drop Villa before the agent started shooting back. He thought about Iker, about what he would do, about Cesc and how much he was missing his reassuring presence at his side right in this moment. _Cesc._ At least he was way out of danger in the hermitage beyond the palace walls. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mari turning to him, and he slowly shook his head. He couldn't save the Queen. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. 

 

Villa grinned at their silent exchange. “Bright, isn't it? My plan? Wipe out the entire royal family _and_ destroy their monument of power in one go.”

 

If looks could kill, Dani thought, as he watched Mari glower at the agent. And only then his words finally registered. “You couldn't kill Fernando, no matter how hard you tried. And he'll get away again.”

 

“Pfff, please.” Villa rolled his eyes. “I didn't _try_ yet, not really. But that honour won't be mine anyway. Ever wondered where the Queen's _loyal_ bodyguard went?”

 

Dani's blood grew cold as his mind went into panicked overdrive. Cesc. Sergio. Fernando. If they didn't see the agent coming, they were no match against the trained professional. Without thinking about it, he decided he would shoot, then and there. He could see it in Villa's face that this was what he'd been aiming for, but the decision was poorly timed. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, several explosions shook the building to the core, and the floor beneath his feet rocked back and forth before it stilled again. It was enough to lose his footing, and he instinctively dropped the gun to pull Mari tight against him with both hands. 

 

A shot tore through the sudden silence, then another, and Dani screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Again, I'm sorry this took me so long! Thank you for staying with me anyway!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I'm settling down nicely at work, and the creative fire is still burning bright in my heart, so don't expect me to stop writing silly things anytime soon. :D Many thanks to you for waiting patiently for the new chapter! *bows*

— † —

 

 

“Damn.”

 

Sergio tried again, but the result remained the same. The code was a fake. The darkness behind the solid metal gate seemed to mock him as he glared at the electric lock which sealed the tunnel entrance. Again, so close to freedom, and _yet again_ they were denied. But he was absolutely sure he hadn't mixed up any figures of the line of numbers Dani had given him. Someone had changed it.

 

“Are you kidding me? It's the _wrong code?!”_

 

In Fernando's voice, Sergio could easily detect the threat of one of his by now familiar fits. The panic, the anger, the fear, the disappointment – it was a dangerous cocktail of emotions. If he weren't so tired, he probably would have tried to shut up the prince with a suitable retort and thought of another way out before he could really get going, but he just didn't have the strength. He just couldn't go on anymore. He sank forward, a quiet sigh escaping him when the cool metal against his forehead soothed the fever he could feel building beneath his skin. 

 

“Sergio...?”

 

The underlying tone of aggression was still there, but Sergio could tell Fernando was trying to keep it under control for his sake. He contemplated a grateful nod, but then decided it wasn't worth the effort. He was so goddamn tired. When darkness took over, he didn't even have time to wonder why he couldn't see anymore before it was replaced with Fernando's pale and worried face. The hold the prince had on him was even more painful now, almost unbearably so, and the metal bars were digging mercilessly into his back. Sergio frowned in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

“You fainted,” Fernando muttered. “I think.”

 

Sergio didn't answer. The short blackout had turned his knees into a shaking mess, and he suddenly found he couldn't keep upright anymore. He bent forward, slipping from Fernando's grasp, and took a deep breath to will away the bright spots exploding before his eyes. The painkillers were starting to wear off, too, and the slight strain in his injured shoulder was slowly but surely making way for a nasty and painful pull. Not that his good shoulder felt any better, with the muscles stretched in the same uncomfortable position for way too long. 

 

He couldn't keep in a loud groan as he slid down the gate and settled into an ungracious heap at the bottom. Fernando followed him down with his arms still outstretched, ready to catch him if necessary, but he didn't dare touch him, probably for fear of aggravating his wound even further. Strangely enough, Sergio immediately missed his touch.

 

“Is there another way?”

 

Sergio shook his head, but regretted it a second later. Too much movement. “No, I don't think so. The hermitage is reserved for the royals, always has been. You know, quiet contemplation, withdrawal from ruling duties...”

 

Fernando looked like he might like to say 'No, I don't know.', but in the end, he stayed silent while the old pain consumed his eyes. Sergio almost apologized for bringing it up, but he knew there was no point. That pain would never leave, he knew that from experience. It would always be there, ready to jump out of its dark hiding place at any word, any gesture, any image. One day, Fernando might be able to stare it right in the eye. But that day certainly wasn't today, or tomorrow, or next week. It might just as well take many years to arrive, as it had for Sergio. 

 

“What now?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

The words were out before he could even think about what to say, and it immediately struck him how true they were. He had no idea how to go on from there. They'd been incredibly lucky on their way down to the tunnel entrance, but that didn't mean they could just take the lack of guards for granted. Even if Piqué and Villa were both dead, the Queen was still there, no doubt out for their blood. Her henchmen were probably turning the place upside down trying to find them, and whatever Villa had done to make the cameras show a loop had surely been reversed by now. It was only a matter of time until their luck finally ran out, once and for all. 

 

He looked up at the small camera in the corner and gave a half-hearted sneer. In the eerie glow of the nightlights, they could easily be spotted in the otherwise empty cellar that framed the tunnel entrance. Even though it was part of a vast basement system beneath the palace, Sergio was pretty sure that, at this time of day, theirs was the only one that showed any movement. Not that he had any idea what lay hidden behind the numerous doors they had passed on their way down here, but what else could there be but wine and old furniture? 

 

Well, thinking about the Queen and her campaign of exterminating all signs of democratic activity... Maybe the ridiculous idea of a torture chamber wasn't so ridiculous after all. Her Majesty had proved to be a ruthless and cunning opponent before, willing to go to certain lengths in order to ensure her objectives were met. And if Sergio was honest with himself, he hadn't fallen prey to the illusion that a few emotional words from the princess was all it took to change her mother's mind. But he understood that she needed to try and, above all, he understood Dani's sense of duty. That didn't mean he wasn't scared witless whenever he thought about the young guard. If anything were to happen to him... he'd never ever be able to meet Cesc's eyes again. 

 

_That's it._ “We need to find a landline. Need to call Cesc.”

 

Fernando had silently watched the cogs turning in his head, and now he frowned, uncertain about the idea. “Shouldn't we try to find another way? Our time is running out.”

 

Sergio shook his head, despite the stars he stirred up before his eyes with the motion. “We've gone too far already. Look at us.” He made a vague gesture that included them both. “I can't go all the way back, and you can't carry me. There has to be a landline down here somewhere. Cesc can come get us. He will know how to override the lock.” Well. That sounded more convinced than he was feeling.

 

Fernando hesitated for a moment longer, but he obviously didn't have a better offer. “Alright.” He reached out to pull Sergio back up to his feet. “Let me just-”

 

Footsteps echoing in the small cellar interrupted him and the prince whipped around, ready to fight. There was no point, though. The Queen's bodyguard wasn't stupid, he stopped way out of reach, keeping them in check with his gun from a distance. “Your Highness,” he greeted, his voice level and void of any malice. It was such an absurd thing to say while holding the prince at gunpoint.

 

Fernando, however, didn't pay any heed to the strange greeting. He slowly shifted on his knees until he was covering Sergio with his body, and fixed the agent with a challenging glare. “I'm not going back.”

 

The agent inclined his head in understanding, but his hand holding the gun didn't waver. “I'm not here to take you back, Your Highness. I'm here to end your line.”

 

Sergio's breath caught in his throat and the oxygen in his lungs seemed to dissolve into nothing. Was the Queen really that cruel? Or was the hitman working for someone else? A disturbing thought crossed his mind: Had Iker known? Had he planned it as the ultimate goal? But no. He refused to believe that Iker was somehow caught up in this murder scheme, and what was more, that he was watching their execution from afar.

 

It seemed like whoever ordered Fernando's death hadn't been exactly precise on how to carry it out, since the agent was staring at them with a strangely thoughtful expression, almost hesitant even. Or he didn't want to, but Sergio didn't dare give in to that futile hope. Still, as long as it kept the bodyguard from pulling the trigger, he didn't really care why. The head of the agent twitched to the side, so subtle he almost missed it, and then he reached for the radio attached to his belt. Sergio watched, curious, as he changed the channel and then raised it to speak. 

 

“Sir, this is Agent Cavallo. Confirm kill order.”

 

“Whose?” Sergio didn't recognize the voice, and judging by Fernando's confused expression, he didn't know it, either. He couldn't decide whether he should rather be relieved or scared.

 

“The prince, sir.”

 

“Wait! I didn't give one for him!”

 

“But Agent Villa said-”

 

The gun never wavered in the agent's hand as the odd discussion continued, and when Fernando turned back to him, Sergio could see that the resolve in his wide eyes had made way for fear – and regret. “I'm so sorry.”

 

He didn't immediately realize what Fernando meant, but then it suddenly occurred to him what he was trying to convey: I'm sorry you're going to die because of me. It was strange how calm he felt when those words crossed his mind. But then again, he'd always known where this journey would ultimately end. They'd never stood a chance. Besides, those words were wrong anyway. He wasn't going to die because of Fernando, but _for_ him. That was a significant difference in his book. 

 

He reached out with his good hand to cup Fernando's cheek and gently pulled the prince forward until their foreheads met. _If this be the end, at least none of us is going to be on his own._ He caressed his jaw with his fingertips. “I told you. You will not lose me.”

 

Fernando slowly shook his head, deliberately ignoring the sound of a gun being cocked right behind him. “Liar.” He raised his hands and mirrored Sergio's hold, framing his face. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I _am_ sorry, but I'm also glad you're with me.”

 

Sergio's heart skipped a beat and he tightened his hold on Fernando's jaw. “You will finally be free, and-”

 

The shot cut him off. It was deafening in the small cellar and they both flinched, unconsciously crowding closer to one another. Their harsh breathing was the only sound that followed the shot, until- “Sergio...?”

 

Sergio almost choked on his relief as he ripped his head away from Fernando to look over his shoulder. Darkness wasn't the only thing waiting in the tunnel behind them anymore. Iker and Cesc were there. And his brother. He wasn't able to pay attention to anything else, focused only on René's worried face. Cesc cracking the lock, Iker rushing forward to check the pulse of the struck down agent, Fernando watching in silent shock – none of that registered in the haze clouding his mind. 

 

There was only René, switching places with Fernando, and when his brother reached out to gently ruffle his hair, he couldn't hold back a sob. He'd been close to death so many times in the last few days, but he'd never been certain of it, not until a few seconds ago. And to evade it yet again, only to find out his brother was finally with him, after so many days of wishing he was there... He couldn't take it. Tears were dripping down his face, but he didn't try to stop them. He was just too exhausted.

 

“It's alright,” René said softly, carefully wiping away the teardrops. “You're safe now.”

 

The disbelieving snort was all Sergio could come up with, the air still stuck in his chest, escaping in little gasps. He'd thought and said and heard those words often enough in his life – they didn't hold any meaning to him. Not anymore. And certainly not here, in the palace, once a home and now a monument for pain and injustice. Where everything had started, and everything would end. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

It was strange how fear put everything in perspective. Every move, every manoeuvre he'd set in motion in the past few years had lead to this moment, had brought him closer to this single goal, and yet, Iker couldn't care less. He'd dedicated his whole life to a cause that was supposed to bring an end to the age-long reign of the royal house, and with it freedom and choice. And just like that, it had become meaningless. He'd been bested in this game of chess, had been shown up by the Queen and her dogs. Gone was the dream of a coup d'état, of a revolution. Right now, all he could do was to keep the damage to a minimum. 

 

He made a face at his own thoughts. Dani deserved more than a clinical assessment of the danger he was in. But Iker knew that if he gave in to fretting about his charge (and he was _this close_ to losing his mind already), the game would be over. He had to keep a level head, had to focus on the blueprints in his hands, had to try to keep up with Cesc who was beside himself with worry. Iker had never seen him like this, eyes wide and wild, hands shaking around the handle of his gun – but the call had never been this close before, either. 

 

He had no idea what they would find in the Queen's private chambers. He had no idea if Dani was even up there, if he was still alive, if the walls around him were still standing. They'd met only a few staff members on their way, and they had paid the two strangers no heed in their haste to flee the palace. Someone else was calling the shots now, someone with murder on their mind, and it drove Iker insane that he didn't know who it was, what they wanted, what they were planning to do. At least Sergio was on his way to safety, and with him the prince. In the chaos of uncoordinated evacuation, it should be a walk in the park to slip away unseen. But then again, so many things had been supposed to be a piece of cake, and look at him now. Still trying to make up for mistakes he'd made years ago, and unable to deal with the ones they were making this very moment. 

 

Like take a turn that led into yet another staircase that was already on fire. Iker cursed loudly – he didn't even bother to do it under his breath anymore – and quickly backed away from the wall of smoke wafting towards them. Yet another waste of time! And if that wasn't bad enough, the power chose that moment to collapse and the lights around them flickered for a split-second and then died. Now that he thought about it, it had been keeping up for a marvellous amount of time after the explosions had unhinged many of the supporting walls. In the sudden darkness, a thin cone of white light appeared on the floor as Cesc exchanged his gun for a torchlight. He took the map from Iker's hands, flattening it against the wall, and traced the corridors with his index finger. Then he pointed at another flight of stairs two parallel hallways over.

 

“Let's try this one.”

 

Iker could only nod, his breath already in short supply, and they chased back the way they'd come and down yet another hall that looked just like all the others. How anyone was able to navigate the palace without a map at hand was beyond Iker, but it didn't matter at all when the stairway suddenly appeared before them, and there were no flames running along the wood. Iker actually slowed down in his relief, surprised by the reappearance of their luck, and Cesc took the lead, leaping up the steps two at a time. He instinctively chose the right hall at the top, and Iker didn't even bother asking him to check the map. 

 

They turned the corner into another hall, and there was a door on the right that stood slightly ajar, and on the left, flames were already licking at the wallpaper, painting bizarre patterns over the plain floral design. Iker tore himself away from the terrible, but also mesmerising sight and briefly locked eyes with Cesc. He suppressed the thoughtless action of taking a deep breath of the poisoned air and jerked his head towards the door, pulling his own gun from the holster hidden beneath his jacket. 

 

The caution proved to be unnecessary. 

 

Piqué was the first they stumbled across. The agent was leaning against the door frame, huddled low in a crouch, his eyes half-closed. Where his shirt wasn't drenched with sweat, it was covered in a dark red stain, reaching from high up on the right side of his ribcage down to his belt. It was clear the agent wouldn't see another dawn. Caught up in pain, he didn't even realize they were there until Iker pressed the barrel of his gun to his temple. 

 

Piqué pulled his head away from the cold metal, but Iker easily followed him. “Careful,” the agent huffed out. “There's no need to waste bullets on me!”

 

You wish, Iker thought grimly, and nudged Piqué's hand with the tip of his boot. “The gun. Let it go.”

 

Piqué grumbled for a moment, a long string of harsh sounding, but unintelligible words, and Iker was sure there were some not so nice things about him in there somewhere. But then the agent uncurled his fingers and released the white-knuckled grip he had on the handle of his gun. “There, happy?”

 

“Thank you,” Iker drawled in a sweet voice and kicked the gun out of reach. Then he pressed closer with his own weapon. The agent was responsible for so much suffering, and Iker had to clamp down on the urge to put a bullet in his head right then and there. “You goddamn-”

 

“Iker!”

 

Iker almost let loose a curse at the interruption, but when he followed the thin line of light from Cesc's torchlight further into the room, he immediately forgot what he'd been about to say. He could distinguish very little from the surrounding shadows in the pale and quivering glow, but what he could see made his heart hitch for a second. Villa was lying flat on his back, but Iker couldn't make out if he- no, he was definitely dead. Even the tenacious agent couldn't survive a direct shot to the head. Right next to him lay the Queen, her head resting in the lap of the princess who was leaning over her and whispering things Iker didn't catch. And oh thank God, there was also-

 

“Dani!” Cesc ignored the Queen and her daughter in favour of his boyfriend who didn't even react to his voice, staring straight ahead. He quickly dropped to his knees before Dani and pushed a hand into his hair, trying to attract his attention. “Dani, it's me, Cesc!”

 

Iker pulled his gaze away from the heart-wrenching reunion with an effort, turning back to Piqué instead. “What happened here?” 

 

Piqué chuckled and shook his head. The soft laughter was accompanied by a wet sound in the back of his throat, and Iker realized he had to be quick or the agent would simply die beneath his hands. But then Piqué decided to answer after all. “Depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“If you're ready to do what I'm asking of you.”

 

Iker grit his teeth and risked a glance at Cesc who was still trying to pull Dani from the state of shock he was caught in, quietly pleading with him to wake up. “And what would that be?”

 

Piqué grinned up at him, a triumphant gleam brightening the dark blue of his eyes. “Save the Queen.”

 

Save the- “She's still alive?!”

 

“Barely. Information for a life. Do you agree or not?”

 

Iker didn't even know what astonished him more: that Piqué was loyal to his death – and quite literally too – or that the Queen had survived being shot. But of course she had. The bloody bitch. “Cesc. Check her pulse.”

 

“What?! I will not-”

 

Iker silenced him with a glare. “Do it.”

 

For a moment, Cesc looked like he might put up a fight, but then he gave a terse nod and shifted on his knees so he could take the Queen's hand. The princess didn't even stop the litany of teary pleas and calls for her mother to open her eyes, didn't even realize she wasn't alone in the room, and Iker felt his blood run cold. It seemed like this nightmare wasn't inclined to spare anyone. 

 

“Pulse is there,” Cesc reported, and the barely controlled anger in his voice almost infected Iker, too. He couldn't believe he was even contemplating a deal with Gerard Piqué about the well-being of the Queen. “But it's weak and erratic.”

 

“Alright. I will try to save her,” Iker growled as he turned back to the agent. “And now-”

 

But Piqué wasn't even listening anymore. His eyes were still open, fixed on a distant spot on the floor, but life had fled his gaze and his chest had stilled. Iker quickly bent down to check for a heartbeat. Nothing. For a moment, rage consumed his mind, so absolute he raised his gun and pulled the latch, releasing a bullet into Piqué's dead body. The shot echoed around the chamber like thunder. He didn't feel better afterwards, and shame spread like fire through his veins instead. When would this disaster of a mission finally end?

 

 

— † —

 

 

It's not yet finished, Iker. Sorry. Thanks a lot for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

— † —

 

 

At first, there was light. Light that penetrated the darkness around him like lightning, flickering across the sky from one end of the horizon to the other. It moved too quickly for him to see where he was, if there was anything around him but empty space. He felt remarkably light, entirely detached from his body weight that usually pulled him down to Earth. His mind was blank, void of any thoughts, images, memories – it was almost welcome but for the tiny sliver of consciousness that still clung to him like a leech. It was feeding him doubts, starting with a bad feeling he couldn't shake off, and then they grew bigger until he was calling his entire existence into question. 

 

Again, the light flared up in the surrounding blackness, and he thought that the light at the end of the tunnel was nothing like he had imagined. Was he even dead? Why should he be? There was something he should remember. 

 

A shot. 

 

No. Two. The Queen. Villa. Mari! Panic gripped his mind, unrelenting and painful. What if-

 

Another shot ripped through the silence, and he felt his body flinch. Gravity pulled at him, tearing him down, and he fell from the darkness back into the Queen's chambers, back into the nightmare he'd escaped from into his own mind. Colours and sounds flooded his senses, and for a long moment, he wasn't able to attach any meaning to the chaos of impressions assaulting him. 

 

“Iker! Don't waste your bullets on that fucker!”

 

Cesc's voice – close, _so close_ – tore through the mayhem in his head, and all of a sudden, everything made sense. The lack of power had erased all colours except black in the room, and the light glimmering in the dark was a torchlight. He could hear Mari whispering near him, and Cesc was right before him, but he wasn't looking at Dani. 

 

“He deserved it.”

 

Iker. Iker was there, too. _They found me._ He opened his mouth to voice his relief, but he couldn't manage more than a tiny, raspy sound in the back of his throat. Cesc's attention snapped back to him, his wide eyes searching his face for any signs of consciousness. “Dani?”

 

“Cesc.”

 

The name wasn't more than a low murmur, but the effect on Cesc was overwhelming. He laughed loudly and pulled Dani into an embrace, clutching him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe. They had spent mere hours apart, but as they clung to one another, it felt like they hadn't seen each other for weeks at least. Dani breathed in Cesc's familiar scent, felt his stubble scratch the sensitive skin of his neck, felt his heart beat wildly against his chest, and in that moment, he couldn't imagine letting go ever again. But then Iker knelt beside them, and one look at his solemn face had him remembering what was happening around him.

 

“Mari?”

 

The princess didn't react, caught in a state of shock just like he had been, and he gently pushed out of Cesc's embrace to take a closer look at the Queen in her arms. Villa's bullet had missed its target, but even though the shot hadn't been lethal, the alternative was no less gruesome: the bullet had grazed her throat instead, and despite Mari's attempts to stop the blood flow with her jacket, the large dark stain on her blouse showed the extent of the damage done. 

 

_Good Lord._ “Is she still alive?”

 

Iker shrugged. “I don't know.” As he took the Queen's hand to check for a sign of life, he looked back towards the corridor, as if he were expecting the flames to spill through the door any second now. “We have to-”

 

All of a sudden, the hand of the Queen closed around his wrist almost painfully tight, and he abruptly trailed off. Her eyes opened slowly, reluctantly, but she didn't spare her daughter more than a fleeting glance. Instead, she focused entirely on Iker. “Mr. Casillas,” she breathed, and her voice was distorted by the agony raging in her throat. “We meet at last.”

 

Iker inclined his head, a stiff jerk of the head. “Your Majesty.”

 

“Mum...?”

 

Pity closed around his heart like a fist as he heard the quiet whimper from the usually strong and eloquent princess, but Dani didn't dare interfere with the drama playing right before his eyes. Cesc stayed silent as well, watching the doorway instead, but his hold on Dani grew tighter as he sensed his lover's distress. The Queen herself didn't avert her attention away from Iker, and Dani was wondering if she was even aware of the audience around her. It seemed like, for her, only Iker was worth wasting her last words on.

 

“Let this be a warning for you and your kind,” she rasped, and Dani suddenly knew why everyone feared her. Even in her struggle with death, she had a terrifying air about her, and he had to fight the sudden urge to cower before her. “You may have won this battle, but not the war.”

 

“I will not forget.” She seemed to have a similar effect on Iker, for his voice didn't betray the immense resentment he felt towards her. His tone showed only the appropriate level of respect, as well as a startling honesty. But despite his quarrels with the Queen, Iker was no man of unnecessary cruelty, and Dani suspected he wasn't aiming to squander her last moments with petty arguments. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you should say goodbye to your daughter.”

 

Mari blinked as tears blurred her view, staring at Iker in disbelief. “Say goodbye?”

 

Iker nodded, and even he looked pained. “I'm sorry.” He turned to Dani and Cesc. “Go check how much time we have left.”

 

Dani didn't obey immediately. Everything in him resisted against the idea of leaving Mari to face the truth about her mother's fate all by herself, but at the same time, he knew she needed as much privacy to let go as they could give her. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to be there when she realized that her mother wouldn't survive the night. He looked up at Cesc who held his hand out to him to help him up, but who also gave him a nod that signalled he would wait if Dani asked him to. _If only Mari had someone to be there for her now._ He couldn't be that someone, though. His mind made up, he gently grasped her elbow for a second, a silent show of support, and then followed Cesc out into the hall.

 

Or what was left of it. Where there used to be a long corridor, there was now a black mess of ash and smouldering wood, the flames curling towards them like snakes. The windows had broken under the force of the fire, and the cold night air outside hungrily devoured the dark clouds of smoke, in exchange feeding oxygen to the flames. Already, the heat was almost unbearable, and Dani immediately realized the time frame when they could still leave was decidedly small.

 

“Iker,” he called back through the anteroom. “We gotta go! Now!”

 

For a long moment, nothing could be heard but the sizzling of the flames, eating away at the walls ever faster. Then a bloodcurdling scream answered him. He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Cesc, but neither of them made it back into the room as Iker appeared in the doorway, dragging Mari with him. The princess fought tooth and nail against his hold, but she was no match for Iker in her blind grief, and her punches and kicks were uncoordinated and could do no harm. Dani flinched when her voice rose again in a scream, but he instantly rushed forward when Iker motioned for him to help pull Mari away from the Queen's chambers, back the way they had come. 

 

“You're lying! She's not dead! We have to go back! Please! Please let me go back!”

 

Tears suddenly burned in his eyes, and his stomach rebelled against his dinner as he listened to the unbelievable amount of pain in Mari's voice that turned hoarser with every word. He glanced at Iker, and in the quivering glow of Cesc's torchlight, he found the suffocating sympathy he himself was feeling mirrored in his face. Neither of them had wanted this to happen, neither of them had wanted a life dragging on their conscience, not even that of the Queen. 

 

But they couldn't turn back now.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Fernando didn't know what to make of this situation. He knew he should be glad they were still alive, should be glad someone had come to their rescue with just a few seconds to spare. _No, don't go there._ He didn't want to think about how close he'd come to dying. Again. The thought was mind-boggling and, most of all, so exhausting. With the spike of adrenaline slowly burning out, he found he didn't have the strength to deal with the latest near-death experience in the long line of near-death experiences he'd had to endure in the past few days. 

 

Others hadn't been so lucky. He felt nothing but dread and guilt as he watched the young man – Cesc, if he remembered correctly – check the pulse of the agent and then confirm it wasn't there. No triumph, no relief. Just overwhelming regret. So many had died because of him. _I'm so sorry._ Sergio is still alive, his mind whispered at him. Isn't that the most important thing? _Yes, of course._ But Sergio had been prepared to die for Fernando too, and willingly so, and he found that was the heaviest debt yet. 

 

He looked down at the young guard, who was crying with the intense relief of having René back at his side after being separated for so long. The reunion of the two brothers – which wasn't hard to guess, they looked so much alike – was an amazing sight, and Fernando felt his heart sing for Sergio. But the feeling was tampered somehow. He was indeed happy for Sergio, so why did it feel so wrong? René then raised a hand to gently wipe away the tears dripping down his brother's face, and Fernando suddenly knew why. Sergio had a life. He had a life outside of running and dragging the prince from one illusion of safety to the next. That life was waiting to embrace him again. And Fernando didn't have a part in it. 

 

And wow, that thought hurt just as much as a bullet. 

 

Someone cleared his throat right next to him and he snapped out of staring longingly at the brothers, pulling on the mask of indifference he had perfected so many years ago. The man before him offered him a hand, and Fernando watched it warily before he hesitantly took it.

 

“Iker Casillas, Your Highness.” 

 

I know who you are, Fernando wanted to say. I know you let Sergio walk the road to ruin without telling him what was waiting at the end. But he didn't. Sergio probably wouldn't have appreciated it if he laid into someone who had raised him, who maybe had been some kind of father figure to him. He didn't need to like him, though. 

 

“I know.” His grip on Casillas' hand was almost too tight, and the firm look he gave him was almost a glare, and he barely managed to suppress a dark grin when the journalist frowned, obviously irritated by his cold demeanour. “Welcome to the House of Horror.”

 

To his credit, Casillas quickly regained his composure and let go of his hand with a curt nod. “René will take you and Sergio out of here. We'll go get Dani.” 

 

“Wait.” He may not care about Iker, but he cared about his sister. And maybe Dani, too. “There's someone else.” 

 

“Someone else?”

 

He gestured at the body of the agent. “He was talking to someone about a kill order.” Strange how fuzzy everything was all of a sudden, like the fear for their lives had distorted his memories. Thankfully, that also made it harder for him to feel guilty. “I don't know who it was.”

 

“I see.” For a moment, Casillas seemed to push that new piece of information back and forth in his head, but it obviously didn't affect the original plan (if there was one to begin with). He simply nodded his thanks and then bent down to put a hand on René's shoulder. “You remember the way to the safe house?”

 

The change in René's face was marvellous as he turned away from comforting Sergio. His soft and vulnerable expression seamlessly morphed into what could only be called intense scorn, and Fernando raised an eyebrow in surprise. It seemed like he wasn't the only one who had issues with the leader of the pack. “Of course I do. Now go get Dani.” Casillas looked ready to retort, but then he visibly swallowed it back down and hurried off down the corridor, Cesc close on his heels. “Come on, Sese. Let's go.”

 

He carefully pulled Sergio to his feet and settled him against his side so he could take over most of his weight. Sergio wheezed and swayed back and forth for a second, the sudden movement obviously throwing his weakened circulation for a loop, and René waited patiently for him to calm down before he moved back towards the tunnel entrance. Sergio wouldn't budge, though. “René,” he began, his voice tired but clear. “This is Fernando. Fernando, this is my brother René.”

 

Fernando inclined his head and tried a small smile, but René only stared him down, his face giving nothing away. And yet, Fernando could've sworn that the look he gave him was exactly the same he himself had given Iker Casillas a mere minute ago. Like he was to blame for everything that had happened to his little brother. Which wasn't too far off target, but still... It hurt. It definitely hurt more than it should. He almost opened his mouth to tell René he would turn back time if he could, and spare Sergio all the pain he'd had to go through. But that was beyond his power anyway, so he stayed silent and simply ducked his head.

 

To provoke an argument would force Sergio to pick a side, and Fernando was determined not to repeat that mistake. A sharp sting of pain pierced his heart as he thought of Mari and he gave the hall leading back into the maze of cellars a forlorn look. _Where are you?_ As if pulled on a string, he took half a step forward, the urge to go back for his sister almost too powerful to resist. But then he paused again. No, he had to let go, had to finally leave this behind. This wasn't his fight anymore. 

 

“Fernando?”

 

He turned back to Sergio's concerned gaze and René's cold eyes, and shook his head. “It's nothing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the suspicious look Sergio sent him, but he deliberately ignored it. “Lead the way.”

 

“Here.” René thrust a torchlight at him. “We can't use the electric lights, it'd give us away.”

 

Again, Fernando considered giving in to his old temper and matching his prickly behaviour (not to mention his twisted way of giving orders), but he quickly discarded that idea, for various reasons: waste of energy, waste of time, it would make Sergio sad. None of them was worth the risk. Ha, he thought, if Sergio could hear my line of reasoning, he'd be proud. No shouting, no digs, only calm and logical thinking. But as he took the lead and lit the way for the brothers, he could feel Sergio's gaze boring into his back, and he was sure the guard knew exactly what was going on, thanks to his goddamn empathy that bordered on a sixth sense (and that made him absolutely irresistible to Fernando – but that was a totally different story). 

 

 

— † —

 

 

The palace was burning. At first, they had mistaken the muffled sound of the detonations for distant roll of thunder, but when the tremors reached them, rattling the tunnel walls around them and almost throwing them off their feet, they'd immediately known what had happened. The bombs had been placed too far away from the tunnel to trigger a cave-in, but they couldn't be sure, so they had nonetheless hurried down the rest of the corridor as fast as they could go with Sergio still unable to walk on his own. When they finally reached the solid stone walls of the hermitage, Fernando could've cried out in relief, but it didn't last long. He didn't spare a glance at the interior, least of all the gold décor flashing in the flickering light of his torch, stumbling after René into the darkness beyond the front door. 

 

And now he was standing there, just above the river shore, watching as his prison burned. How many times had he imagined flames licking at the imposing walls, tearing them down stone by stone until they were reduced to nothing more than ash and rubble? He couldn't remember. But he remembered the way he'd felt back then: triumphant, gleeful, bloodthirsty. Now that it was actually happening, he was feeling nothing of the sort. There was only fear left, fear for Mari, for Dani, fear for anyone who was fighting for their life inside the palace. _Dear God, I beg you, no more lives on my conscience._

 

“Your Highness?” Fernando blinked away the tears in his eyes and slightly turned his head to show he was listening. “In a few minutes, the forecourt on the other side will be full of police and firefighters. We gotta find another car for us down here, and we gotta be quick.”

 

“What?” It seemed like Sergio didn't approve of that plan. “What about-”

 

“There's nothing we can do for them now!” 

 

Despite the grudge that seemed to stand between them, Fernando had to admit he agreed with René. They didn't even know where they were, where they were headed, and in their current bad shape, neither Sergio nor Fernando were able to make the way back, let alone stand their ground should it come to a fight. That didn't mean the decision to leave Mari behind came easy to him. It hurt so much he almost couldn't breathe, but he knew that all he could do to honour her sacrifice was to run, as much as it pained him. 

 

“He's right, Sergio. We have to go.”

 

Again, he was aware Sergio was trying to lock eyes with him, but he wilfully avoided his gaze until René pulled his brother forward and Sergio lost sight of him. And with a last long look at the palace, he followed. _Mari, forgive me._

 

They had just made it half down the Calle de Linneo before the first fire trucks and ambulances raced eastwards, up the Calle de Segovia, and the cacophony of sirens echoed around the narrow streets, surely waking everyone in the neighbourhood. René cursed under his breath and quickly chose an old car whose owner had simply ignored the stopping restriction in front of a gateway. 

 

René unceremoniously dropped Sergio against the rear and hurried around the car to tamper with the driver's door. To say Fernando was impressed when the lock gave way within half a minute would be an understatement, and he thought of the story Sergio had told him. It seemed like René had to pick up certain abilities to keep them alive. But he didn't have the time to admire those skills as René called his name and waved him forward.

 

“Help me put him in the back. And hurry.”

 

It had to hurt like hell as they quickly manhandled Sergio through the rear door so he could lie down across the backseat. But the young guard didn't make a sound, didn't protest – until Fernando moved to close the door and get into the front seat. “Fernando.” Sergio reached out with his good hand and caught the hem of his shirt. “Stay with me?”

 

He could practically feel René's glare burn a hole in his forehead across the roof of the car, but he didn't have it in him to deny the simple request. Besides, it wasn't René's business if Sergio wanted him there with him. Take that, watchdog. “Sure.”

 

A minute later, he realized his mistake. Sergio didn't want him there so he wouldn't be all on his own in the back. No, he wanted to talk. And pent-up as he was on the floor, his long limbs pulled close to his chest, Fernando couldn't go anywhere. Awesome. The analysing look Sergio was fixing him with certainly didn't bode well. “Don't mind my brother. He's... let's say... protective.” Fernando couldn't suppress a disbelieving snort, and even the corner of Sergio's mouth quirked into a small smile. “I know. I know he's intense, and you can't imagine how happy I am to have him here with me. But he doesn't speak for me.”

 

And wasn't that what he'd wanted to hear? Between them, the simple sentence held so many meanings: you're not to blame; you couldn't prevent it, couldn't prevent anyone from getting hurt; you did what you had to do to survive. And maybe most of all: I don't regret staying with you. Guilt overwhelmed him yet again, and somehow, the total conviction in Sergio's voice made it so much worse. It wasn't just empty words. He knew Sergio was convinced he was worth all the pain, all the horror he'd gone through.

 

“I don't deserve-”

 

Sergio frowned when he cut himself off mid-sentence. “What?”

 

You. Your friendship. Your loyalty. Your love. “Why? Why did you risk your life for me?”

 

Sergio didn't reply immediately. In fact, the pause stretched so long Fernando wondered if he was still conscious, but in the light of the passing street lamps, he could see his eyes were still open, still focused on him. Despite the low rumbling of the car and the sounds of the city passing them, the silence seemed absolute, pushing at his eardrums and swallowing up every noise. Even René seemed to hold his breath, so he wouldn't miss a single word.

 

“Why,” he repeated, softly this time. “You didn't even know me.”

 

“I guess,” Sergio began, and then stopped again, as if he wasn't sure about his answer. “I guess for the same reason you wouldn't let Piqué pull the trigger.”

 

Is that all, Fernando wanted to ask, is that all there is to it, but he didn't dare. He simply raised a hand to gently sweep a stray strand of hair out of Sergio's face, his fingertips briefly caressing his temple. “You should rest.”

 

It was probably due to exhaustion and the no doubt excruciating pain in his shoulder that Sergio didn't protest. He only hummed his agreement, low in his throat, and closed his eyes, relaxing back into the cushions. Fernando carefully pulled his hand back and sat up slightly so he could see where they were going, but the street and the houses lining it looked just like any other street he remembered from his few trips into the city. He had no idea where they were headed – big surprise there – and he couldn't help but feel trapped yet again. He had to remind himself that this wasn't an abduction, that this was an escape. René was watching him out of the corner of his eye, his face as impassive as before, but to Fernando, it seemed like the hostile vibrations had lessened somewhat. 

 

“We're almost there.”

 

Fernando only gave him a half-hearted nod. He couldn't wait. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! Reviews are love. :) <3


	15. Chapter 15

— † —

 

 

“Fuck, I don't want to be cut open.”

 

Fernando only shook his head in reply, for he didn't trust his voice. He didn't like it either, but he knew it had to be done. Until René had announced Iker had sent a doctor out to the safe house to retrieve the bullet from Sergio's shoulder, Fernando had completely tuned out the fact that it was there. Sergio had fought on so valiantly it had been easy enough to mistake his need for physical support for a means of staving off the ever-present fatigue instead of bleeding to death. But time was running out, even Fernando – with a distinct lack of medical knowledge – could see that. Sergio was already beyond the point of total exhaustion, and when they had arrived at the safe house, he hadn't been able to walk anymore, and René had to carry him all the way to the front door and up the stairs. 

 

He suspected it was only sheer force of will that kept Sergio awake, as if he were hoping he could talk the doctor out of cutting the bullet from his shoulder if he stayed conscious long enough. Fernando highly doubted that plan would work. Not necessarily because the doctor would certainly refuse to leave the bullet where it was. That was a given. But Sergio didn't look like he would make it to the doctor's imminent arrival, either. 

 

“Alright, Sergio.” He playfully pulled on a wayward strand of Sergio's messy hair. “I won't let him cut you open. I'll have him draw some tiny hearts on your shoulder blade instead.”

 

Fernando wasn't even sure he actually understood what he was saying, but Sergio snorted softly in response, his eyelids drooping until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. His breathing immediately grew shallow, and Fernando couldn't resist the urge to lean forward in his chair beside the bed to listen more closely. _You're not going to die on me now, are you? After everything we survived, a simple bullet won't get you, right?_

 

“It's okay, it's just the painkillers.” Fernando almost jumped in surprise when René suddenly appeared in the doorway, but he just about managed to reduce the nervous twitch to a minimum. He didn't trust the older Ramos brother. Not yet. “The house is clear.”

 

Fernando didn't know what to say to that, so he just shrugged, turning his focus back to watching Sergio. He heard René shift about the room until he finally sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands awkwardly smoothing out the wrinkles in the covers. It was the first display of helplessness Fernando discovered in him, and he found it was oddly reassuring. So far, Sergio's brother had seemed like a machine, a ruthless machine with the single goal of getting Sergio through this alive, no matter at what cost. Right now, though, the massive implications of what was happening around him finally seemed to pass through to him, like it hadn't occurred to him before what was actually at stake. 

 

“I'm sorry,” René suddenly said, and then stopped again, as if he'd spoken before he'd properly thought through what for. Fernando didn't ask, though, so he tried again. “I'm sorry I doubted you.”

 

Stunned, Fernando opened his mouth before he even knew what he was going to say, but he wasn't fast enough to come up with a reply. The doorbell rang, and the sound prompted René to rush into a quick-fire line of words Fernando had trouble keeping up with while he pulled him out of his seat and half-way down the hall. “That must be the doctor. He mustn't see you!” They stopped at a closed door, and René hurriedly pushed it open and hit the lights. The bathroom. Huh. “Why don't you take a shower? I left some of my clothes there on the shelf. Feel free.” 

 

And then he was already rushing down the stairs to answer the door, and Fernando was left standing on the threshold, unsure what to do. Every fibre of his being rebelled against the thought of leaving Sergio in the hands of a doctor neither of them knew (and therefore, couldn't trust), but René was right of course. Showing his face to said doctor was an unnecessary risk. He couldn't help anyway, and if he was honest with himself, the prospect of taking a shower for the first time in days was very tempting indeed.

 

“Hi, I'm Isco.”

 

Fernando started when a (very young, he noted) voice drifted up the stairs, and he quickly stepped over the threshold of the bathroom – a dreadful compilation of grey tiles on windowless walls and battered dark brown furniture – and pushed the door closed behind him. Then he pressed his ear to the wood. René didn't say he mustn't listen, either.

 

“René. Iker told me he'd called a doctor and not a nurse.” 

 

Trust René to start begging for a favour like _this._ Even with the short amount of time he knew him now, Fernando wasn't surprised to find René didn't have a way with words. Too tactless, too straightforward (but not too honest, unlike his brother). No wonder he didn't get along with Casillas and his merry band of... well... Kids? Charges? Assistants? Fernando wasn't entirely sure what they were. _Decent people_ , Sergio had called them. So far, he hadn't witnessed (m)any decent things. 

 

Thankfully, the 'doctor' wasn't impressed in the least. 

 

“I _am_ a doctor. Granted, the youngest of this year's graduates, but also the best.” Fernando couldn't help a smile at the retort, but it froze when the medic went on. “So, I heard it's about a bullet in the shoulder. Tricky thing, that, without proper hospital equipment.”

 

He didn't get René's reply over the sound of the bedroom door closing, cutting off their conversation. Even though he didn't want to admit it to himself, Fernando was glad about it. He didn't want to hear about the risks of homemade surgery, of infection, of bleeding out, of permanent damage. He didn't want to think about what he would do if Sergio didn't make it. But in the face of what was at risk (and compared to his previously aggressive demeanour), René seemed remarkably calm. And the doctor hadn't said it couldn't be done, had he? ' _Tricky thing'. I wonder what kind of medical slang that is._

 

Relax then. You can't help. Don't show your face. _Is this what my life's going to be about? Hide, hide, hide. Hide forever._ He lightly knocked his forehead against the unrelenting wood of the door, then harder. The pain settled his frayed nerves somewhat and he took a deep breath before he set out to get rid of the dirty and tattered clothes. Slowly at first, mindful of his aching bones and stiff muscles, and then ever faster, until he was practically tearing the rank fabric off his skin. When he was finally naked, his thin arms hugged his even thinner ribcage, rising and falling with the gasping breaths he took. 

 

Burn. He wanted the remains of his old life to burn, burn _right now._ His trembling fingers ran along the shelves and rummaged through every drawer before he finally found a box of matches beneath the sink, and he almost released a careless shout of triumph as he threw the heap of clothes into the bathtub, followed by a blazing match. 

 

It didn't burst into flames right away. Not like he had imagined. He sank down onto his knees, arms propped up on the edge, and watched how the tiny flame slowly and unhurriedly nibbled at the threads. Great. He didn't even get to have this. He hadn't felt defeated when he'd gotten caught above the river bend. He hadn't felt defeated when the Queen had used him as bait to lure the others into a near-lethal trap. Instead, he'd always believed in Sergio, in his unshakable loyalty first and foremost. 

 

But then and there, on his knees in the cold bathroom of a safe house, with Sergio fighting for his own life next door, the goosebumps rising on his grimy skin and the stumbling, irregular steps of his exhausted heart certainly served as sure signs of defeat. He absently traced the scars on his forearms, his fingernails biting at the surface as if trying to break it. There had to be a razor in here somewhere. He looked up to examine the drawer beneath the sink he'd just turned upside down in his search of matches, trying to remember whether something sharp had passed through his hands. 

 

Scissors. 

 

He didn't scramble for the drawer. He didn't hurry to drive the metal into his flesh. He was no addict. For him, self-harm had never been about despair, about the rash craving for pain. It was calculated relief, at least for a little while, and it required a massive amount of self-control and meticulous planning. He wouldn't get lost in it. He just needed to _rest._ Slowly, and with absolute calm, he pushed himself away from the edge of the bathtub and stood to walk over to the drawer. 

 

The scissors weren't overly sharp, especially when compared to the high-end kitchen knife he had been used to, but they would do. So far, he had avoided looking at himself in the mirror, and even now, he steadily refused to meet his own eyes in the glass as he adjusted the tap to a lukewarm flow of water and set the edge of the blade to his bare skin. Breathe in deep, exhale slowly. 

 

A few years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to draw a thin red line across his wrist. There was nothing and no one that had held him back then. But he hesitated now. The terror in Sergio's eyes when he'd found out about the scars, about the story behind them... He would never forget that look. And when he finally raised his eyes to meet his own gaze in the mirror, he found the same terror looking right back at him. The sound of the scissors clattering into the sink echoed around the tiled walls and he took a shaky step back, appalled at himself. 

 

He looked like a ghost. His shaven head and his face were littered with scratches and bruises, and the cut above his ear looked particularly nasty: a dark splotch of dried blood, smeared around the edges with sweat and rain and murky river water. And his eyes. He almost didn't recognize his eyes. Dim and dull, almost dead. A shiver ran down his spine and he suddenly felt very cold. He didn't want to look like that. With a huge effort, he tore his gaze away from the haunting image in the mirror and stepped into the bathtub, mindless of the clothes still smouldering away at the bottom. 

 

Since he used the sink mere seconds before, the water was already warm, and he couldn't keep in a groan of relief. For a moment, he had trouble keeping upright, as all the tense muscles in his body relaxed at once, turning his knees to jelly and the bones in his arms to lead. With slow and awkward movements, he washed the grime off his skin, hissing when the soap burnt in the numerous scrapes covering his body. He watched the flakes of mud and dried blood run down the drain, and he imagined them to be pieces of his old life, each crumb standing for a day of hiding, of repression. When the water finally came away clean, he closed his eyes and leant his head against the cool tiles. 

 

Free. At last, he was _free._

 

Now that the last reminder of his former existence was gone, he felt incredibly light, and it was a mystery to him how he'd even been able to bear the burden of it before. _You just didn't know better._ Probably. But now that he did know better, one thing was for sure: it didn't matter how this night ended. He wouldn't go back. They wouldn't get him alive, not this time. No more pawn games for him, no more pretending. He knew who he was now, and he wouldn't give it up, not for anything or anyone.

 

A stifled scream interrupted that train of thought, and his eyes shot open as his back went rigid with panic. _Sergio._ He quickly shut off the water and stepped out into the cold air of the bathroom to dry himself off. All the musings of freedom and the fight for it were immediately gone from his mind, only to be replaced by the mindless urge to make sure Sergio was okay. He threw on René's clothes and flew down the hall, his bare feet making no sound on the carpet. He grabbed the handle and- His survival instinct kicked in just then, and he hesitated to rush in and expose himself in the process. No, he could do better. He slowly pushed at the handle until the door gave way with a soft click. 

 

Neither Isco nor René paid any attention to the sound. They were focused entirely on Sergio, who was lying on his stomach, his whole body trembling with the choked breaths he took. He tried to shy away from Isco's hands that were dabbing none too gently at the wound with a piece of gauze, but he was no match for René who was holding him in place. So the painkillers hadn't been able to block everything. Fernando winced in sympathy as he eyed the IV drip, mounted to the nail holding the painting (of a forest, of all things) above the bed and feeding God knows what into Sergio's blood. 

 

“That's it,” Isco declared cheerfully, and a wave of disdain overcame Fernando. It was startling in its intensity, but then again – his share of doctors definitely sufficed for his whole life. “Well done, Sergio. I'll patch you up now and in a few weeks, you're gonna be as good as new, alright?” He only got a pained groan in response. “I'll take that as a 'yes'.”

 

René grimaced at that, and Fernando wondered if their thoughts were wandering along similar paths. “What next?”

 

“A new bandage, nice and tight.”

 

“Do you need me for that?” René gathered a few of Isco's instruments and dropped them into a bowl of water on the bedside table. “If not, I'll go clean these up.”

 

Fernando started in surprise, but before he could shut the door and escape down the hall, René looked up, and their eyes immediately locked through the gap in the door. Damn. Denial was useless then. Fernando simply stepped back to clear the doorway for Sergio's brother, pointedly not taking a closer look at the blood on his hands or the menacing metal tools in the basin he carried. René inclined his head down the hall, and Fernando relaxed slightly as he followed him back into the bathroom. He didn't seem too angry at the intrusion, just weary and emotionally drained, and his voice was surprisingly amicable. 

 

“He's gonna be okay. The shoulder will probably be slightly stiff for the rest of his life, but I guess that's a small price to pay. An inch or two to the left...” René sighed heavily and raised a hand to rub at his tired eyes. Almost too late, he realized he was about to smear his brother's blood all over his face. He dropped his hand with a noise of distress. “Isco's going to leave in a few, and then you can go see him, yeah?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

René waved off his thanks with a hint of a smile, but it morphed into a frown mid-way. “Did you... burn anything in here?”

 

“Well... yeah.” Fernando reluctantly pointed a finger at the miserable pile of half-burnt, half-soaked clothes. “I tried. It didn't work out, though.”

 

René didn't reply, and when he turned back to him, he could see his gaze hadn't been caught by the rags in the bathtub. Instead, he was staring at his bare forearm, where the marks stood clearly visible beneath the short shirt sleeve. Damn. He hadn't thought about that. René looked just as horrified as his brother had, and somehow, Fernando was certain he didn't need to hear the story to confirm his no doubt correct guesses. Somehow, he was sure René had already finished the puzzle from the few pieces of information he had about his past. In his old life, Fernando would've tried to cover up the scars at once. But right then, even though he suddenly felt exposed and naked, he hesitated. 

 

René must've noticed the unsure tension in his body, because he tore his gaze away from his arm and gave him an apologetic look. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, and then awkwardly cleared his throat. “I can get you something with long sleeves, if you want...?” Confused by the unexpected kindness, Fernando only shook his head as words eluded him. “Right. I'll be downstairs.”

 

“René?” 

 

They both gave a start when Isco's voice echoed in the hall outside. “Coming!” René turned back to Fernando, as if to address him again, but then he just nodded and slipped out the door. “The sink in the bathroom is too small. Join me in the kitchen?”

 

“Sure. He's sleeping now, and that's all he should do for at least a week. Change the bandage every day until the wound is scabbed over. And remember what I told you about the IV drip?”

 

Fernando stopped listening after that. He waited until the voices had disappeared into the kitchen downstairs before he sneaked down the hall and through the open bedroom door. Sergio was indeed fast asleep. His skin looked ashen in the low light of the bedside lamp, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his breathing was laboured, as if his lungs were to fail any moment. As if he were dying. But no, Fernando thought, René had said he would make it. 

 

Had Isco failed to save his little brother, he surely would've run riot instead. In the (almost) solitude of the bedroom, he could admit to himself René had begun to earn a sort of begrudging respect for his no-holds-barred way of defending Sergio – not to mention the incredible human being he'd raised him to be. Besides, the glimpses of kindness and loyalty he'd spotted in René weren't too different from those he admired in Sergio. It wasn't such a huge riddle anymore why Sergio adored his older brother like a hero – despite the fact he'd basically abandoned him just when they'd begun to take root in Madrid. 

 

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to Mari and his own sibling issues, and he wondered what kind of older brother he himself would've grown into if given the chance. Useless pondering now, of course, and he couldn't even tell which kind he would prefer to be – whether they would even grow to become something one might call siblings some time in the future, even less so. If Mari were to fail in her quest to persuade the Queen to let them go, she would be lost to him, once and for all. There was no doubt which side she would stand on if pressured to choose. 

 

The sound of the front door falling shut was a very welcome distraction from those depressing thoughts. There were quick footsteps on the stairs and Fernando turned to the door, anxious for any news he might've missed. But the news René brought with him had nothing to do with Sergio and his state of health. 

 

“Iker sent a message,” René said as soon as he'd stepped across the threshold. “They're okay. The princess is with them.”

 

Fernando's eyes widened. _No way!_ “Mari?!”

 

“Yes.” René tried a tentative smile. “They'll be here in a few.”

 

Mari. Fernando suddenly felt a bit light-headed, and he stemmed his feet against the floor to ground himself. Mari had chosen him above the Queen, above her own mother. _Him._ A disbelieving laugh tried to force its way out, but he pressed his lips into a thin line to keep it in and schooled his face into the indifferent mask he'd perfected before... well, before Sergio had broken it into tiny pieces with almost no effort at all. 

 

_Mari chose me._ Whatever the reasons were. They had only just acknowledged each other's presence again this very evening, after years of wilful ignorance, and it was beyond him why she would throw away everything she had for a brother she didn't even know. A brother who was damaged both mentally and physically, who was on the run, who couldn't give anything back. _Sergio didn't care, either._ He quickly turned away from René and focused on Sergio instead, because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep the fond edge out of the mask. And all of a sudden, there were tears in his eyes, and he almost let go. What was it they were seeing in him? What was it he had to offer? A prison sentence for treason maybe, and bad luck. Death. 

 

Thankfully, René misread the emotions that flittered across his face. “I've seen worse at sea.”

 

Fernando blinked as if he'd been roughly shaken awake, torn from an especially vivid dream. “What?”

 

René sat down on the edge of the bed and nodded at Sergio. “He'll be okay.” _Oh._ “Besides, he survived horrid things before.”

 

“I know.” It was out before he could stop himself, and he almost bit his tongue. Damn.

 

René raised an eyebrow in surprise, but he also set his jaw, as if he weren't sure how to take the revelation, caught between relief Sergio had obviously confided in him and anger because his brother had exposed the well-hidden secret of their heritage to a stranger. “He told you?”

 

To Fernando's surprise, his voice was even, and there was no threat in there, just simple curiosity, but he knew better than to trust the sudden change of heart just yet. So many people had shown interest in the connection between him and Sergio (and, at times, had outright taken advantage of it), and he was unwilling to give away more than was healthy for either of them. “It was an exchange.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Our pasts.” His sharp tone made it clear that he wouldn't elaborate further, and René surprised him again when he simply took the answer with a nod. Now, his mind whispered at him, now is the time to ask. “Why did you leave him?”

 

René's shoulders stiffened as he narrowed his eyes at him. “Come again?”

 

“Why didn't you take him with you?” He almost took a step back when René abruptly stood to face him, acutely aware of his inferior physique, but once he'd started, he found he couldn't stop. Not even when René slowly stepped closer, his fists clenched tightly and obviously ready to resort to violence. “He would've done anything you asked of him, followed you anywhere, without a second thought. You should see his face whenever he's talking about you. You're his fucking hero!”

 

He'd talked himself into a rage, his chest heaving and his eyes ablaze with anger. He didn't really know what had gotten into him, why he suddenly felt the need to talk some sense into René on behalf of Sergio, why he cared. René's poor decision-making wasn't his concern, but Fernando couldn't shake off the feeling that he had kept his brother in the dark about many a thing, including Casillas' crusade against the Queen. Sergio had not only been a pawn to the Queen and her henchmen, but to Casillas and René, too. From what he'd gathered so far, they had both kept Sergio in blissful ignorance, oblivious to the danger he was in, oblivious to the target painted on his forehead. And yet, Fernando was absolutely sure Sergio never would've asked these questions himself, simply because he loved too unconditionally, literally _without_ asking too many questions. 

 

“So why leave him behind? Why keep him at arm's length?”

 

René hadn't moved during his tirade, had simply watched him with narrowed eyes. With his head tilted slightly, it seemed like he didn't want to miss a single word, like he actually cared for what Fernando was saying. It was... not the reaction Fernando had expected, to say the least. He'd suspected a response as harsh as his own words at best, blows at worst. This silent observation proved to be harder to take, though. It made him incredibly nervous and pushed him into another rush of words to fill the uncomfortable silence.

 

“I'm not sorry for asking.” Fernando raised his hands in a jittery gesture that was somehow half defensive and half provoking. “I know it's not my business, and I should stop meddling, and whatever. Just... He needs you, even now. He-”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“What?”

 

A flurry of emotions distorted René's face in quick succession as he turned back to watch Sergio sleep, but they moved so quickly Fernando couldn't put a name to them. “You've known him for what? Four days?”

 

And there it was, the anger. Maybe even jealousy. Fernando almost laughed out loud. You have no right to be jealous, he thought darkly, since you worked so hard to make him forget you. The dig almost rushed unhindered past his lips, but he got a hold of it in time. “It felt longer,” he reluctantly dodged the obvious bait. “Even someone like me, with no social skills whatsoever, could see how much he misses you. He told me he hasn't forgiven you for leaving in the dead of night, but for fuck's sake, that's a lie if I ever heard one!”

 

René didn't reply for a long time. Lost in his own thoughts, he watched Sergio breathe quietly, and Fernando didn't dare move, so he wouldn't destroy the moment that seemed so fragile and yet decisive. “He's always been too generous with his trust.”

 

Fernando accepted the concealed rebound without a fuss. Sergio did indeed trust too easily. “It is safe with me.”

 

“I know.”

 

He couldn't suppress the disbelieving snort. “You do?”

 

“I may have given you the cold shoulder when we met, but I have eyes, you know.” René hesitated for a moment, and then his voice grew quiet. “I wish I were that close to him.”

 

Fernando scoffed at that and crossed his arms. “You're an idiot if you don't know how much he cares about you.”

 

René gritted his teeth. “Don't mock me,” he snapped. “You asked me why I kept him at arm's length and that is the answer.”

 

“ _What_ is?”

 

“I left immediately, because those people weren't going to ask nicely for what I owed them. They would've torn me to shreds if they found me, and Sergio too, even Iker and the boys if they tried to protect us.” Fernando wanted to butt in, but René raised a hand to stop him. “I didn't take him with me, because I'd made sure they never saw his face, and because Madrid had become his first real home. I couldn't bring myself to uproot him yet again. And-” He faltered and ran a hand through his hair. “Have you ever missed the chance to do or say something, and with every passing day, it's getting harder?”

 

Fernando frowned, caught off-guard. “I-”

 

“It's a goddamn vicious circle.” René apparently didn't have the patience to wait for him to get his thoughts in order. “It's always getting harder, and in the end, you _never_ do it. Every time we talked on the phone, I was going to ask him to leave Madrid and come live with me, and every time he was talking about that city like... like it was a bloody part of him. It felt like Madrid was a part of him now, and I wasn't. So I didn't ask.”

 

Fernando was quiet for a moment. “God, you're so stupid.” Not that he didn't know what missed opportunities and soul-crushing regret felt like, but Sergio's brother didn't need to know that. Those were matters he kept close to his own stupid heart. 

 

René's laugh was too loud and too bitter to be real, and the intense remorse in his eyes bordered slightly on madness. “Maybe I am. But here we are now, and I have to listen to you – someone lacking social skills, if I remember correctly – judging what is absolutely not yours to judge.”

 

Right. So a confrontation couldn't be avoided after all. “Someone has to. He won't.” Fernando unfurled his arms and straightened his spine, preparing himself for the inevitable. “I know that vicious circle you spoke of. If I'd had the guts to kill myself years ago, all those people wouldn't have died because of me. But I didn't, and it's done now. So yes, I get what you mean. But what about the things you kept from him? I bet those Barcelona thugs are still around, aren't they? That's why you never came back!” René suddenly couldn't withstand his glare, and that was answer enough. “He doesn't know, does he?”

 

A pause. “No. No, he doesn't.”

 

_ Jesus Christ.  _ “I grew up in a maze of lies, René, and I can tell you it's not the best way to live, but the worst. He's not a child anymore. You should've seen him out there. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead. Or worse.” He shook his head as unbidden memories jumped to the forefront of his mind. “He can make his own decisions, lead his own life, but he needs  _you_ in it. It's not that hard to see.”

 

Again, René eyed him up instead of answering, and Fernando could see the cogs turning in his head as he stared him down. But this time, his scrutiny didn't make him nervous. He'd said his piece, and rather than leading to the showdown he'd dreaded, it had been received surprisingly well. Maybe René would reconsider his unhealthy coddling of Sergio and go back to being the big brother he'd once been instead of pushing him away. 

 

“It is not?” A tiny smirk pulled at René's mouth, and Fernando wasn't entirely sure he liked the look of it. “I wonder whether you can see it for yourself as well.”

 

“What?”

 

René just shook his head, the smirk growing wider. Before Fernando could call him out on his strange remark, however, the front door slammed shut, heralding the arrival of Iker and the boys. And Mari. René gave him a meaningful look and then slipped out the door to greet them. Fernando, meanwhile, felt rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to fall into bed next to Sergio and sleep forever and running to meet his sister. But of course the choice wasn't there. René wasn't the only one who had to relearn how to be a big brother, after all.

 

 

— † —

 

 

*sighs* Those boys – they just don't get it. ^^  Thank you for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

— † —

 

 

Madrid had always been the most beautiful city she'd ever seen. On her travels, she'd visited quite a few others that came close, with clean and colourful streets, vast patches of green, and the deep blue sea lapping at their shores. Where people loved to live, where they instilled the same love for their city in their own children, where they returned to die. But even those cities only ever came close, unable to overtake Madrid, and the reason was simple: they weren't home. 

 

Unfortunately, Mari hadn't seen as much of Madrid as she'd like. The opportunities of leaving the well-trodden paths of her axis of routine (palace-airport-parliament) were quite rare. But whenever they arose, she'd open the tinted window – despite the warnings of her anxious bodyguard – and watch Madrid and her people through that tiny gap. It served as a reminder: for all the reasons why they needed her, why she was doing this, why she shouldn't wish for an anonymous life in the privacy of her own chambers. 

 

It had happened from time to time, after a frustrating day of bickering back and forth with members of parliament, after an argument with her mother about how to interpret protocol in this or that situation, after a rare look at her brother's pale and impassive face. She'd sit at one of her windows, in the dark, watching the world outside and wondering what she'd be doing if the hopes of an entire nation weren't resting on her shoulders. Those moments, however, were few and far between. In all those years, she'd learned how to hide those treacherous thoughts away in a dark corner of her heart, how to get used to the life she'd been gifted with. She'd been born to lead. At least, that's what her mother would say whenever she witnessed one of those moments. 

 

Born to lead. Mari didn't like that label. She found it was vain and self-absorbed, and unsuitable for a future ruler. Judging by the many things she had to sacrifice in order to lead, normal things like meeting up with friends or watching a movie at the cinema, she was rather born to serve. Watching the streets fly by somehow lessened that burden. 

 

Tonight, however... Tonight, she couldn't bear the sight of Madrid. The city seemed to close in on her, squeezing the air from her lungs, choking her. Instead of reassuring her of her place as the guardian of the city, of the whole country, it glared at her, blaming her for the terrible things she hadn't been able to prevent. But every time she closed her eyes, she was assaulted by images that were even harder to take, images of Villa pointing a gun at her, of the palace burning, of her mother's chest rising and then stilling. 

 

_ Mother.  _ Her eyes flew open, but she couldn't see, and her hands rose to clutch at her chest, where her breath seemed to have turned into lead. Only a terrified sob made it through, and all of a sudden, there were hands pulling at her, prying her fingers away from her throat where she was all but strangling herself. She blindly struggled against the tight hold, mindlessly lashing out with her legs, but then she realized someone was calling her name. It wasn't so much the name that pulled her from the terror she was caught in, but the voice itself. 

 

“Mari. Stay with me, Mari, okay?” The darkness suddenly gave way, and she saw the face belonging to the voice. Dani. Dani who looked relieved now, relieved but incredibly sad, too. “There you are.”

 

He loosened his hold on her, obviously ready to let go, but she laced her fingers through his, unwilling to loose the anchor of his touch.  _Don't leave me alone with Madrid._ Her throat still wasn't working, still kept the words locked behind the bars of her ribcage, but Dani seemed to realize without. “I'm here,” he muttered and carefully pulled her back into a loose embrace. “I'm with you. You're not on your own.”

 

He kept talking to her, soothing nonsense mostly, but the words weren't important. They didn't really register. She focused on the steady rise and fall of his voice instead, and on the strange, but comforting way in which he drew out the vowels and cut off the consonants. It kept Madrid at bay, for the moment at least, and it almost lulled her to sleep as bone-deep exhaustion crept up on her. 

 

Absently, she wondered how much pain and burden a single mind could take before it snapped. Why don't you ask Fernando, a tiny voice hissed from the back of her mind, and she swallowed hard to keep the guilt at bay that threatened to climb up her throat. She could never bear the answer, she had to admit, shame spreading hot and piercing through her stomach. For a long and dark moment, she almost wished she didn't have to face him, but he was the only one left to her, the only one left to care about now. She wouldn't let him down yet again.

 

As if to answer her thoughts, the car finally slowed to a stop. Dani silently slipped out the door and pulled her with him, steadying her when she stumbled on stiff legs. “Come, quick.”

 

She followed him into the run-down house, instinctively pressing close to him so his burly frame would shield her face from any curious on-lookers. The city is most alive when it looks the most asleep, her bodyguard had always said, and she'd never understood what he meant. Until now. The street was dark and deserted with only every second street-lamp alight, but her trust in luck and allies had already been tested to the point of non-existence tonight.

 

She arrived in the sparsely decorated living room just in time to witness Casillas greet a stranger with a tight hug. “Sergio?”

 

“He'll live.”

 

“Good.” Casillas clapped the man on the shoulder, and then turned to Mari. “Your Highness, this is René Ramos, Sergio's brother.”

 

She ignored the respectful nod she received from Ramos. Courtly protocol was the last thing on her mind right now. She was entirely focused on Casillas, and resentment pooled in her stomach as she glared at him. He let her die, her mind whispered at her. He is to blame for her death, with his schemes and hunger for fame and his alliance with David. She pushed out of Dani's embrace, her back straightening as she strode forward until she was almost nose to nose with Casillas. 

 

“Are you happy now,” she hissed. “Is this what you wanted?”

 

Casillas was bold enough to look taken aback. “Your Highness-”

 

“Was it your plan all along? Destroying the palace, plunging our country into chaos, killing-” Once again, her breath collapsed within her lungs, and for a moment, she had to force herself to fight for air before she could go on. “Killing my mother?”

 

“She's dead?”

 

Mari whipped around so fast the room briefly blurred around her, but her mind wasn't playing tricks on her as she'd feared. Fernando was there. _Alive._ She'd crossed half the distance between them before she remembered the fragile state of their relationship, and her share in his suffering. She ground to a halt, her hand still half-raised to meet her brother. 

 

“Mari,” Fernando tried again, and his voice trembled, torn between sorrow on her behalf and relief on his own. “Is she really dead?”

 

“Yes,” Casillas answered in her stead when she couldn't bring herself to reply immediately, but he raised hands in defence when she turned back to glare at him. “Your Highness, I trusted the wrong person, but I didn't know what he was about to do.”

 

I trusted him, too. Mari crossed her arms to hide the chill running down her spine. “But you were going to take her, us, down. Weren't you?”

 

He regarded her closely for a moment, and she could see him turning over different answers in his head, trying to determine how to solve this situation in his favour. “Yes, if you want to call it that,” he finally said, slowly, still thinking ahead. “But I've been gathering information for an article, that's all. It wasn't my intention to hurt, let alone kill anyone so I could dethrone your family.” 

 

“And _yet_ it played into your hands, didn't it?”

 

Casillas stiffened visibly, a frown darkening his face. “If you're implying I was deliberately taking my time to reach you and Dani, you better think again, Your Highness.” He took a threatening step forward. “No article is worth a life, not even that of the Queen.”

 

“Hey now.” René stepped up, hands raised to quell the tension that threatened to finally blow up. Fernando too was suddenly at Mari's side, watching Casillas with a matching frown. “First of all, tell us what happened.”

 

Again, the cogs visibly turned in Casillas' head, but then he nodded in defeat. “Dani.”

 

Dani didn't look comfortable at all when everyone's attention shifted to him, and he only found his voice when Cesc took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Villa was already there when we arrived. He told us about his plan of annihilating the royal family, and he also triggered the explosions. Piqué tried to keep him from shooting the Queen, but he couldn't-” He cut himself off and gave Mari a pleading look. “Mari, I'm so sorry. That's not what we wanted.”

 

The honest sorrow in his voice placated her almost against her will, and she angrily swiped at the tears that suddenly burnt in her eyes. Acutely aware of Fernando's presence right next to her, she was grateful Dani had skipped the part where the Queen had tried to justify her stepson's horrible treatment almost until her last breath. Her brother didn't need to be reminded of all the years he had spent at her mercy, unable to defend himself against her cruelty. _Do you think he'll ever forget?_ As if sensing her thoughts, Fernando cautiously reached out to touch her shoulder. 

 

“I don't feel sorry for her,” he said quietly, almost too quiet for the eavesdropping crowd. His gaze wandered to his hand on her shoulder, unsure about the boundaries between them, probably wondering if he was being too honest, too forward. “But I'm sorry about your loss.”

 

She wanted to say thank you, maybe smile at him to show him she wasn't offended, but she could do nothing as the tears slipped down her cheeks, too fast to be wiped away. Without a word, Fernando raised his free hand and gave her a questioning look that said 'is this okay'. Overwhelmed by her grief, she could only nod as she pressed her lips together to prevent the sobs from forcing their way out, and he didn't need any more incentive. The care with which he pulled her in against his chest almost hurt – she didn't deserve this kind of tenderness from him. Not from him, whose birthright should've been to be protected at all cost, by her most of all. 

 

She buried her face in the soft fabric of his shirt, painfully aware of the silence in the room. They were probably watching them, way too closely for her taste, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was finally holding her brother in her arms, and it almost felt like the first time. Fernando, however, seemed to be fed up with providing their entertainment, and she felt him move his head towards Casillas, probably glaring daggers at him. The image almost made her smile.

 

“Alright,” Casillas sighed. “Boys. Get rid of the cars.”

 

“Cars,” Ramos echoed. “What about yours?”

 

“It was being watched. They weren't subtle about it, I might add.”

 

Mari pulled back just in time to catch Fernando trade a glance with Ramos. It seemed like her brother knew more than he let on. “Watched by who?”

 

Judging by the suspicious look he gave each of them, Casillas hadn't missed it, either. In the end, he settled on Ramos, obviously dismissing the silent exchange as coincidence. “What do you think?”

 

“The same as you, I bet. It's quite possible Villa was cooperating with them.”

 

“We,” Dani piped up. “Villa was saying 'we' when he talked about his plans.”

 

“Right. There's also that guy on the radio of the agent Cesc shot and-”

 

“Excuse me,” Mari cut in before the conversation could get further away from her, and she stepped away from Fernando with all the authority she could yet muster. “Who are we talking about, exactly?”

 

“The Mafia,” Casillas offered matter-of-factly, unimpressed by her demeanour. “The Mob, Good Fellas, whatever you wanna call them.”

 

“The-” The word sent her head spinning, but she masked it with a disbelieving chuckle. “You're telling me the _Mafia_ infiltrated the palace staff so they could burn it down and wipe out my family?!”

 

“You can't be that starry-eyed, to believe they weren't there all along.”

 

Mari opened her mouth to demand he guard his tongue, but thought better of it half way through. It was unnecessary to argue a point that inarguably made sense. Claiming Spain to be free of organised crime was undeniably starry-eyed. “Why now, though?”

 

“Maybe you overstayed your welcome.”

 

“Iker, please,” Dani tried to stop the impending argument from breaking out. “That's not helping.”

 

Mari ignored him. “And how would you know all that, Mr. Casillas?” 

 

The accusation was clearly audible beneath the surface, and there was no need to elaborate further. Casillas clearly got the message, since he instantly bristled with anger. “Again, you're making some dangerous assumptions, Your Highness. Them and us, we crossed paths a few times, that's correct. It's not to be helped in our line of work. But those incidents proved to me how important it is to steer clear of their territories.”

 

“The palace is _my_ territory,” she groused, even though she knew how childish it sounded. _The Mafia._ Unbidden, images of her mother appeared at the forefront of her mind, with a gun pressed to her head, and still lying, still trying to excuse her actions. _I wonder what else you kept from me, Mother._

 

A completely different kind of pain welled up in her heart as she realized how little she knew about state affairs and how they were solved away from the public eye. Her mother had trusted her to represent Spain on many occasions: fund-raisers, exhibition launches and minor state receptions – simple and harmless affairs that didn't require any detailed knowledge of how their country was run. But the inner workings of how to get the job done, the Queen had kept to herself. One step at a time, she would say whenever Mari had asked to learn more about ruling a country and keeping the parliament at bay. You'll know soon enough. And now, soon would never come. They had both expected the Queen to reign for at least another ten years before Mari was supposed to step up, and now all she was left with was a scorched pile of rubble and three burnt bodies. 

 

“I need to go back.” It was already out before the idea actually formed, cutting through the quiet conferring of Casillas and Ramos. She felt rather than saw Fernando watching her, but she avoided looking at him. He wouldn't understand. “I need to go back,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

 

“Go back,” her brother echoed, and his incredulous tone told her all she needed to know. He did not understand. “Back where? You're not talking about the palace, are you?”

 

She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. She used to dream of a moment like this, where she would prove her worth as a princess. In those daydreams, no one had ever been killed, though, and no one was in immediate danger of yet _being_ killed. It was indefinitely harder to create a solution for this particular mess than for any other state affair she could've thought up. Lives were on the line, real actual lives, her own included. With her mother gone, there was no safety net, no experienced advice, and no one she could trust. Nothing to fall back on, should her decision prove fatal – for her and for everyone else involved. 

 

She squared her shoulders and met his furious eyes straight on. “I am. Listen-” She held up a hand to quell the no doubt wordy rant he was visibly gearing up for. “As soon as they identify the bodies, they will look to you. To you and to Sergio. The rescue squads will recognize him as the one they arrested in the forest, and with both of you gone from the palace, they will assume he had a hand in their deaths and abducted you yet again.” Her voice lost the hard edge then, falling to a soft plea instead. “If I don't go back, they will go hunting for Sergio, and with all due respect-” She glanced at Casillas who was watching her closely. “-no one will be able to protect him then. Not Mr. Casillas here. Not his brother. Not you.”

 

“What are you suggesting then?” Casillas sounded like he was actually agreeing with her reasoning, but it was obvious he didn't see any way to prevent her prediction from coming true. “Are you going to testify against Villa and Piqué? Against your own mother?”

 

Fernando immediately bristled with anger. “Now watch it-”

 

Mari quickly stepped up between them, before he could really get going, but in secret, she was pleased to see him stand up for her. Maybe it was about time she paid him back. “Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. My word, together with statements from my brother and Sergio, should be enough to clear his name.”

 

“And we have the video,” Cesc suddenly spoke up. “We could leak it to-”

 

“No.”

 

For a moment, everyone stilled to stare at Fernando. His eyes, however, were solely focused on her, and she could see that, whatever it was he was objecting to, he wouldn't be argued out of it. “Fernando,” she tried nonetheless. “I cannot take back what she did, but I can try to make it right. You would finally be free and-”

 

“I would _not_ be _free.”_ His gaze turned desperate then, almost to the point where she couldn't hold it anymore. “You testify against her, they go public with the video, and then what? The press will have a bloody _field day_ and everyone out there will once again have a face to my name, a face to the sad story of the fucked up prince.” He quickly shook his head and took a step back, as if preparing to defend himself against an attack. “No no no, I will _not_ exchange one prison for another.”

 

“But Fernando...” She exhaled slowly to keep calm. “What about Sergio? If we don't speak up in his defence, they _will_ hunt him down.”

 

Fernando opened his mouth to reply, but René beat him to it. “Unless...” He held up a hand to buy himself some time. “Unless... he was dead.” 

 

A few beats of silence followed his statement, before Casillas' disbelieving snort of laughter broke it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The bodies. It will take them a while to identify them.”

 

Mari briefly closed her eyes as an idea fell into place. “And what would be the easiest way?” Her pulse picked up speed as her mind raced through the different steps of a plan. “Ask the royal doctors to do it. On palace grounds, their standing outranks any police pathologist anyway.”

 

Casillas hummed low in his throat when he suddenly caught on. “So what you're hoping for is for those doctors to identify Villa and Piqué as Sergio and Fernando? To help them disappear?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And how would you convince them to give false reports?”

 

Mari shared a long look with Fernando, and she could see her brother come to the right conclusion just before she said it out loud. His face fell as he realized her reasoning was the only way out. “I know a few things about their doings they won't want to become a matter of common knowledge. They _owe_ me.”

 

Casillas' sympathetic look landed on Fernando, who crossed his arms and then lowered his eyes to glare at the carpet. He was too smart to argue their path of logic, but that didn't mean he would just take it with a smile and an 'off you go'. He still wasn't convinced that she had to go back to the ruins of what had once been a home to her (and a prison to him), she knew. It warmed her heart that, despite everything that still stood between them, he cared. 

 

“Fernando.” Mari hesitantly reached for one of his hands, and he let her take it, but didn't squeeze back when she tangled their fingers together. “I beg you, leave the country. Tonight.”

 

He nodded, slowly and reluctantly, and she could see how much strength it cost him to make the decision. “I don't know how, though.”

 

“I,” Ramos drew the word out as he stepped up to them, hands help up in apology for interrupting, “think I can help with that.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. That had come up a bit too quick. “How?”

 

“My ship, the one I'm working on, is to set sail again in two days. If you're willing to work for cover, I can find a place for you on my crew.”

 

Mari couldn't suppress a surprised scoff. “And how do you think you're going to cover that he's the _Prince of Spain?!”_

 

Ramos gave her a careful look. “Even assuming that there were more Spaniards on my crew than just one, I can assure you that these men have never read a royal gossip section in their entire life. Some of them can't even read to begin with. And from what I've seen, pictures of him are quite rare, too. There's not one that's up-to-date.” He nodded as if to affirm his words. “They will not recognize you.”

 

“Mr. Ramos, I don't know if-”

 

“I will do it.”

 

Mari whipped around to her brother. “What?”

 

He refused to face her, entirely focused on Ramos instead. “I will do it,” Fernando repeated, his voice stronger now, surer of his decision. “What about Sergio, though?”

 

Ramos took a deep breath and locked eyes with Casillas who sighed and then nodded. “We can't take him with us.” The words obviously took great effort for him to utter, but he didn't take them back. “The wound is too fresh.”

 

“I will take care of him,” Casillas took over. “Until he's ready to follow you.”

 

Fernando's decision seemed to waver after all, his fingers tightening in her hold, but he caught himself before the seed of doubt could take root. “Alright.”

 

“Good.” Ramos awkwardly patted his shoulder and then waved at Dani and Cesc. “I'll take the boys to get my car and get rid of the ones we took. We leave as soon as I get back, so I suggest you say good-bye in the meantime.”

 

He was out the door before anyone could object, and Fernando watched Dani and Cesc fall into step behind Sergio's brother, his face forlorn and unsure. Mari didn't know what to say to comfort him, so she just squeezed his hand, and this time, he returned it. “I'm going to...” He trailed off and gestured at the ceiling, and she quickly nodded and let go of his hand.

 

“Take your time.”

 

It was only when he was gone that she realized she was alone with Casillas, and she turned to him with dread pooling in her stomach. But the journalist wasn't out for another argument. She rather caught him watching her with an oddly soft expression. “You should say good-bye, too. God knows when you will meet again.”

 

His words stung in her chest, almost to the point of suffocating, and she was unable to meet his eyes as she hurried after her brother and up the stairs. There was only one door that spilled light into the dark hallway, and Fernando's voice guided her closer. He was talking in hushed tones, and even though she tried not to eavesdrop, she couldn't help but catch the last few sentences of his farewell.

 

“Thank you for all you've done for me. For all you've risked. For all you've suffered.”

 

He was sitting on the bed, half perched on the edge, half hovering above an unconscious Sergio, and his touch was as light as a feather as he gently smoothed back Sergio's hair from where it was clinging to his sweat-stained forehead. It was so tender, so intimate, that Mari was suddenly fighting back tears. _If only you had met under a different set of stars._

 

“One day, I'm going to tell you all that again, when you can actually listen.”

 

And then he leant down to press a kiss to Sergio's temple, and Mari barely managed to swallow the noise of sadness that jumped up her throat. Fernando pushed himself to his feet, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn't bear his own weight. He swayed on the spot, eyes still locked on Sergio's pale face. And when he finally turned, Mari could see two lone tears slipping down his cheeks.

 

“Mari,” he greeted her, his voice tired. Hollow. As if he were leaving behind his soul. And she believed it to be true. “Please, don't go back.”

 

“I have to,” she whispered. “You know I have to.”

 

“Yes.” It sounded more like a sob than a word, but when he spoke again, there was nothing left of the hurt and the pain, buried beneath the walls he was drawing back up. “Yes, I know. But the _Mafia,_ Mari.”

 

Just like her, he had a hard time believing it, but in Mari's mind at least, there were no doubts left. It was the only explanation that truly made sense. Only the Mob would possess the connections and the resources to infiltrate the palace staff right under the noses of security and police alike. Only the Mob would have the power to convince a man like Villa that his sacrifice would actually change anything. That they would finish what he had started. A chill crept up her spine and she visibly shivered.

 

“Mari...?”

 

“I don't want to lie to you. I don't know what I'm dealing with here, Fernando. But I have to try, for your sake, and for our people's. For my own.”

 

For a moment, he looked ready to plead, to demand, to argue, but then he simply nodded and slowly walked up to her, his eyes asking for permission. She quickly rushed forward to meet him, and he crushed her in a tight embrace. They clung to one another, shoulders trembling as they both tried to force back tears, and a million thoughts raced through Mari's head – a million thoughts she would like to tell him, but didn't have the words to express. It painfully reminded her how little time they had left, and she decided to get the most important thought off her chest before it was yet again too late.

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

He stilled for a second, his breathing stalling, and it belied the ignorance he was going to feign. “For what?”

 

“For everything she's done to you. For doing nothing myself. If I had known-”

 

“Mari, don't,” he pleaded as his arms tightened around her. “It's done now.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” She suddenly struggled against him, and he reluctantly let go. “It's not done for me! I actively decided to ignore the sure signs that something was wrong! I should've-”

 

“I hated you.” His quiet admission easily cut off her rant. He dropped down onto the edge of the bed, his spine bent as though he couldn't keep upright anymore, and his arms hugging his slender chest. Her fingers itched to touch him again, but he drew away from her when she raised her hand, so she just stood there, motionless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I did hate you, you know. In the beginning. You were living the life I had been denied, and somehow, I was convinced you were in on it, too.”

 

It stung, but she didn't let it show. If anything, she did deserve his scorn. “But not anymore?” He shook his head. “What changed?”

 

He was quiet for a minute, gathering his thoughts, but she didn't push him. Who knew if they would ever talk about this again? “It was during one of my clearer moments. I woke in the middle of the night, and I saw you there. You were watching me, but you were so lost in thought you didn't realize I was watching you back.”

 

She immediately knew what he was talking about. The image was etched in neon colours into her memory, a milestone low point in her life. One of the few massive arguments with her mother had left her wishing for support, for someone to confide in, someone she could trust. For the first time in years, she had missed her father so badly it physically hurt, and her path had lead her – almost involuntarily – to the only ally she could think of. The only one she couldn't have. 

 

“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember that night.”

 

“I will never forget the crushed look on your face. The sympathy. That's when I knew you actually had no idea what was going on.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me then?”

 

She couldn't keep the hurt and the bruised feelings out of her voice, and he shrugged helplessly. “I didn't want you involved. You had no place in the war between... _her_ and me. And maybe... maybe I was afraid you'd choose her side after all, and leave me behind a second time. And...”

 

She opened her mouth to cut in when he fought for words, but he quickly held up a hand to stop her. And that's when, at last, she noticed the scars. Thick, white lines reaching all the way up his forearm from his wrist to his elbow. Slashing marks. Self-harm. Her mind stuttered to a halt after transmitting that particular piece of information. _Self-harm._ The enormous implications of what had been going down behind closed doors just around the corner from her own rooms hit her with an intensity that struck her like a whip. In her naïve perception of justice, she'd only thought about herself yet again, about her disgust for her own idleness, about a sister's duties she'd neglected for more than twenty years. What she hadn't taken into account were the ways Fernando had found for himself to deal with the injustice thrust upon him. 

 

_ Self-harm. Suicide attempt. _

 

“Did you try-”

 

She couldn't bring herself to finish, but Fernando immediately knew what she was trying to ask. “No. I guess I was scared I wouldn't succeed.” He smiled sadly at the horror on her face. “I stopped years ago. Maybe I was still hoping for a miracle.”

 

She glanced at Sergio. “And you got it.”

 

He smiled softly, but his eyes were still incredibly sad. “But at what price?”

 

She couldn't think of an answer to that, so she settled in next to him and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. Her eyes fell closed when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and returned the hug, and it suddenly occurred to her just how wrong her mother had been after all. Fernando wasn't out for revenge, for public humiliation of the one pulling the strings of all his pain. Despite the thorns he had developed for self-defence, he was still the kind boy she remembered vaguely from before he got sick, and she wondered if the lack of understanding on her mother's behalf was due to her ignorance of what kindness actually looked like. Fernando certainly wasn't the black sheep of the family – moreover, he was the only white.

 

“When you've crossed the border,” she murmured and raised a hand to his cheek, “don't ever look back. Whatever happens, _don't come back.”_

 

“Mari-”

 

“Promise me.” He flinched when Ramos' voice suddenly drifted up the stairs, calling Fernando's name, followed by footsteps sounding down the hallway. Fear sprang to life in his eyes, and he bit his lip, suddenly unsure of his decision to leave – leave everything he knew behind. Leave her. Leave Sergio. “You have to go. But first, promise me you will never return.”

 

He didn't get to reply. The footsteps stopped in the doorway and Fernando gently pulled out of her embrace, so he could twist around to look at Ramos. She couldn't see his face, but his voice sounded just as shattered as she felt. “What if he doesn't want to leave Madrid? Leave Spain? What if he'd want me to speak out in his defence?”

 

The corner of Ramos' mouth lifted in an indulgent half-smile. “Don't you know him well enough by now? 'He'd follow you anywhere.', that's what you said, right? Well, I think you might be taking over that spot.” Mari could see the tips of Fernando's ears turning red as his shoulders tensed (and wasn't that interesting), but Ramos wouldn't let him object. With one last look at his brother, he backed out the door. “Time to go.”

 

Fernando wasn't pleased to see her smug little-sister-grin when he turned back to her. “Oh, don't you start,” he groused, but there was no real heat behind it. He swallowed hard as he glanced at the door, and the uncertain path that lay beyond. “So this is it.”

 

There were so many things she wanted to say, like _Stay safe_ or _Don't get hurt_ or _You haven't promised yet,_ but in the end, she simply settled for another short, but tight hug. “Yes, this is it.”

 

Maybe for now. Maybe for ever. She didn't want to think about which it would be. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading!

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not abandoning this story (imagine *defiant fist up in the air* here). A huge and very stressful project at work as well as a tiny creative crisis kept me from working on this properly, but I'm trying. Please bear with me. I truly am sorry (especially since there's not much action in this chapter).
> 
> Much love and many thanks to everyone who keeps me going with comments and kudos!

 

— † —

 

 

“Any important calls?”

 

“Nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow, Your Highness.” The professional tightness in her expression softened as Sara took in her slumped shoulders. “I'll get you a cup of your favourite tea.”

 

“No, thank you.” Mari held up a hand to stave her off, but she immediately regretted her harsh tone. “Why don't you go home, Sara? The answering machine can take care of the rest.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I am.” Mari gave her a tired smile and waved a hand in the general direction of her bodyguard who stood a few feet behind her. “I've got the silent shadow squad with me. It's alright.”

 

Sara respectfully inclined her head, but she couldn't disguise her relief. Hours in the newly established royal office were long. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

 

Mari watched her walk back into her own office to wrap up for the day, only to shake her head when a sudden bout of jealousy hit her. It seemed like she still wasn't over the normal life illusion. She turned to her bodyguard. “Eden?”

 

He nodded immediately, sure of her order. “I'll have Thorgan replace me.”

 

“No.”

 

He frowned, confused. “No?”

 

She almost sighed before she got a hold of it. He was still new to the job (and still wet behind the ears, just like her), it wasn't his fault. “It's fine.” Never let down your guard, Mari, they wouldn't understand. One of her mother's favourite pieces of advice came up unbidden, and she blindly reached for the handle to her office door, the need to escape suddenly unbearable. “I just need a moment to myself.”

 

Eden would love to argue, she could see it in his face, but he seemed to realize her distress. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

 

She forced out a 'thank you' and almost banged the door shut behind her in her haste to escape his suspicious gaze. In the privacy of her office, she finally exhaled in a long sigh and toed off her shoes. She ignored the light switch in favour of the half-darkness of the almost-full moon trickling in through the windows and slowly walked over to the old leather couch, taking her time flexing her toes against the plush carpet. Note to self: never wear those shoes again. She flopped down on the couch – cold and stiff and entirely there for representative reasons. It would do.

 

Moments of reprieve were certainly rare in her new, but in some ways old job. Compared to what she was trying to do now, pulling off that stunt with the body switch had been surprisingly easy. On top of issuing false death certificates, the royal doctors had accepted their dismissal with barely more than a hardly-disguised sneer. Which was down, mostly, to the healthy sum she'd paid them. Money had bought their alliance and their silence in the first place, and only money would keep it. She'd felt incredibly dirty afterwards, despite the fact that it was the only way to make it work.

 

And it hadn't stopped there.

 

For all her dictatorial bearing and desperate attempts at keeping all the reins in her own hands, the Queen hadn't been able to establish her system of power without any outside help. In the wake of her downfall, the rats had come out of their holes, all too ready to sell the information they had on the dealings of the deceased Queen to anyone out there who was willing to listen. And Mari hadn't had a choice but to pay.

 

Iker had been livid, finger already hovering over the post button to go and publish his own intel on them in turn, and the argument between them had been a battle fought with all the nasty verbal tricks they were both capable of. He had accused her of protecting her mother, she had accused him of only ever thinking about his own objectives instead of those of the people. The tragedy surrounding the ruins of the palace had tossed the nation into an uproar which had barely settled down yet, and a public war of mudslinging would unhinge it entirely.

 

In the end, she had wheedled a surrender out of him, temporary as it may be. She needed those rats to keep the country going, and even Iker couldn't argue that logic. Following the release of the news that the Queen and her son had died in the fire, there had been many offers of condolences and help from all over the world, but Mari wouldn't fall prey to the illusion that the European Union would fail to come knocking at her door with demands of fulfilling their rescue fund contract any time soon. You couldn't rule a country with only half a parliament.

 

So she had paid the price.

 

But not only in money. They had pressured her into a concession that had prompted another nasty spat with Casillas: adjourning the referendum until the mess resulting from the Queen's sudden death had been sorted. Technically, she was still the Princess of Spain, and therefore, only a mere royal surrogate, her powers of decision limited to certain tasks and signing minor laws. Executing the referendum now could possibly destroy all the hopes of the parliament to extend their power – and crown her Queen.

 

Not that she was sure she even wanted to be Queen. Far from it. That task seemed so massive, so infeasible for a single person, and she wondered whether so much power should gather in one pair of hands. Considering what it had done to her mother... She tightly closed her eyes. _Don't go there._ She took a deep breath and rubbed at the dull ache in her chest. She didn't really have the time to grieve, to cast off all the conflicting emotions tightening her heart whenever she thought about her mother and the dishonourable end she had inflicted upon herself. There had been so much to do, so many decisions to make, so many people to talk to.

 

In the end, postponing the referendum was a price she didn't mind paying, if it bought her time to get back on her feet and sort through the emotional mess the past month had left her with. Not to mention the danger of once again having a run-in with the Mafia. She knew it wasn't too hard to get her if someone actually put his mind to it.

 

But so far, nothing. Not a single threatening letter, not a single member of the Mob calling on her, not a single assassination attempt. Waiting for it was almost worse than actually having to face it. A surge of disdain blackened her thoughts, and she wished all the rats and the good fellas would go and rot away in the same hole.

 

“Fuckers,” she muttered under her breath, pleased at how easily the cuss word rolled off her tongue. “Why don't you all go to hell?”

 

“Long day?”

 

With a yelp, she shot up onto the edge, but before she could jump off the couch, the lamp on her desk was lit, and for a moment, she couldn't see. While her eyes blinked uselessly against the blinding light, she carefully pulled herself up onto her feet by the armrest and took a step back, so that at least the couch was between her and the intruder. She couldn't believe she jinxed it.

 

But the man sitting casually in one of the chairs in front of her desk was not a mobster. Or that's what she'd thought until now. “Mr. Ronaldo.”

 

She couldn't suppress the waver in her voice, nor the slight upward tilt at the end that exposed her confusion, and the fear that accompanied it. Cristiano Ronaldo was in her office, without an appointment, after hours, looking right at home. That was the ridiculous beginning to a flurry of thoughts and information that her mind rattled off in rapid succession. She had met the richest civilian there was in her country at a few rare occasions, a fund-raiser here, a banquet there... Her mother had only ever sung his highest praises, and she was aware he was an integral part of society and politics, but she'd never actually dealt with him outside of stilted small talk. He'd always struck her as polite, yet vain and self-absorbed, and she hadn't bothered to dig behind the mask he was so obviously wearing in public (it takes one to know one after all). Right now, she thought that might be her biggest mistake yet.

 

She finally found her voice. “How did you get in here?”

 

Ronaldo tilted his head, faking confusion at the question he obviously thought was unnecessary. “Through the door.”

 

Calm, Mari thought, keep calm. “And what is it you want?”

 

“I hope you will forgive my trespassing of boundaries,” Ronaldo said, as if she hadn't spoken, and his voice betrayed how certain he was she would, “but these days, it is nigh impossible to get a chance to speak to you in private, Your Highness.”

 

He shifted in the chair to smoothly cross his legs, and she almost laughed out loud when his jacket fell open to reveal a holster sitting snugly along his ribs. A holster with an actual real gun in it. “And I am to assume you came here to talk, Mr. Ronaldo.”

 

He glanced down at the holster as if he'd only just realized he was wearing it. “Oh, that. Yes, I understand why that might disturb you. I have to take precautions, you see.” He slowly pulled the gun free of the leather straps, and she tensed so abruptly it was surely impossible for him to miss. “I assure you talking is all I want to do, and to show you how sincere I am, I will give it to you.”

 

He leant forward and gently slid the gun across the coffee table towards her, and for a moment, she could only stare at it, her thoughts still racing. Would Eden hear her if she called for help? Would she sign her own death warrant if she tried? But Ronaldo was simply watching her calmly, his hands clasped together loosely in his lap. Slowly, and with her eyes trained on him, she bent down to pick up the gun. It felt foreign in her hand, cold and heavy, and she immediately set it back down on the armrest, safely out of his reach and easily within her own.

 

“Now, with this obstacle out of the way, I suggest we get down to my business of coming here.”

 

“Business,” she echoed flatly. “Mr. Ronaldo-”

 

“Please, Your Highness,” he interrupted and smiled at her, exposing two rows of immaculate white teeth. It was a startling contrast to his tanned skin. “Cristiano will do.”

 

“Mr. Ronaldo, I suggest you state the occasion of your visit, or I will be forced to call for security.”

 

“I see, straight to the point then.” The smile vanished. “You need a benefactor, and I need a ruler.”

 

She couldn't have heard that right. “Excuse me?”

 

He looked entirely too serious for it to be a joke. “A modern society cannot prevail without a parliament to represent the people, or that's the theory at least. However, the truth is they represent money, and it affects their decision-making.” He shook his head. “Don't get me wrong. I don't think a single person should be allowed to rule. However, a single person, blessed with common sense and the will to stand by exactly that, who has the power to tip the scales now and then... I think that might be exactly what this country needs. Just like England, you see?”

 

Disgust crawled under her skin, but the mask on her face didn't waver. “And I imagine that single person is to be you.”

 

His laughter actually sounded surprised, and she was reminded of how excellent an actor he really was. “No, that's not what I meant. I was going to say-”

 

“I know what you were going to say. You were going to say I should be that person. And you would be whispering in my ear what to decide, in which direction to tip the scales. That's what you're here for, isn't it?”

 

“No.” He certainly managed to charge the single syllable with as much hurt as could possibly fit in there. “I've been following your career with interest, Your Highness, and I believe-”

 

She suddenly wished Eden was with her. “I believe our conversation ends here, Mr. Ronaldo.”

 

“No, listen-” He swiftly leant forward to perch on the edge of the chair, and her hand automatically twitched towards the gun. With his hands raised and his face sour, he fell back again. “I am truly sorry we got off on the wrong foot, and all I beg of you is a chance to explain.”

 

“Explain what exactly? Your world domination plans?”

 

“There are no-” Her fingers began to tap an irregular rhythm against her thigh, and it obviously showed him how thin her patience was wearing, so he changed tactics mid-sentence. “I also came here to apologize for my part in the ordeal surrounding your brother a month ago.” The tapping immediately stopped. “I see that caught your attention.”

 

Smugness and self-confidence had found their way back into his voice, and the fear pooling in her stomach suddenly turned to anger. She was fed up with people digging around in her family's business, scratching at the surface in the hope of finding something beneath they could use against her. Her hands balled into fists, and she had a hard time holding on to her composure and feign ignorance.

 

“I don't know what you mean, but I will not have you talk about my late brother in such a fashion, Mr. Ronaldo.” She forced her body to move and marched over to the door, placing her hand on the handle and straightening her shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain authority in her own office. “I hope for improvement in your manners next time we meet.” And they surely would. The thought made her sick.

 

Ronaldo didn't move, and his expression only showed sincere regret. “There was no doubt in your mother's mind about the outcome of the referendum. She was convinced her people would never vote against her, but the forecast was telling a different story. I tried to make her see the importance of changing her course of ruling, but she wouldn't listen. It only served to plant a seed of doubt in her mind, and she obviously thought there was only one way to influence the vote in her favour.”

 

Mari briefly closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the cold metal of the door handle. “Please stop,” she whispered, but he wasn't finished yet.

 

“I was aware of your brother's situation.” He raised his hands to stave off her accusing glare. “When the first rescue mission had failed, your mother had become suspicious. I couldn't risk another.”

 

She immediately knew what he was hinting at. “You sent Navas?”

 

He quickly nodded, relieved she was catching up so fast. “Yes. In any case, I assume she felt cornered by my insisting, and that's why she resorted to that last desperate attempt at securing the sympathy of her people. I'm afraid I forced her hand.”

 

It was an honourable thought, and maybe not entirely wrong, but it was neither here nor there. As a strong-willed person who took orders from nobody, the mistakes her mother had made had been her own, and Mari was certain the misconceptions surrounding her brother and his state of mind would've lead to tragedy either way. However she looked at it, her mother's long line of misguided decisions could've only ever ended in bloodshed and tears, and somehow, she was glad-

 

She shook her head to prevent that thought from coming to the fore. Her body suddenly felt like lead, as if she hadn't slept in way too long (she did sleep, but the nightmares, they were a different story), and she began to sway on the spot as her knees shook. Ignoring Ronaldo's worried look, she took small and measured steps towards the couch and carefully perched on the edge. Her eyes caught on the gun still sitting on the armrest. “You said you have to take precautions. Why?”

 

His smile was cautious as he leant forward as if to share a secret, but she could still read the hint of pride beneath. “You see, Your Highness, I know too much.”

 

Ah. Now they were truly getting down to business. She wondered what a man like Cristiano Ronaldo would ask of her. “Well, and what do you know?”

 

“For a start, I know that your brother is still alive.”

 

That had her wide awake again. “That's ridiculous.” But even she could hear her voice lacked any real mockery. There was simply no point. She was perfectly able to spot a wild guess, especially in someone who wore the same disguise as her, and this was no such thing. He knew. And there was only one explanation. “I didn't think you belonged to the Mob, Mr. Ronaldo.”

 

“The Mob?” His laughter was light, like someone had told him a harmless joke, but there was an ugly ring to it. “I certainly don't stand on the same side as that self-centred scum.”

 

“Tell me then: if you aren't involved with them, how come you know?”

 

A brief flash of anger crossed Ronaldo's eyes. “I sent my informer to protect you and your brother. But he betrayed my trust, as well as everyone else's.”

 

Mari didn't have to ask. “Villa.”

 

A sharp nod confirmed her guess, and for a moment, silence fell as she tried not to let her sorrow and her disappointment show on her face. Ronaldo mustn't learn how hard Villa's betrayal had actually hit her, how much it had cost her. He would know how to use it for his own gain. Which reminded her... “What is it you seek in return for your silence?”

 

“Nothing.” She scoffed, and he rushed to explain. “I told you, I'm here to help. And before you ask... I pinned all my hopes of a better nation on your mother, but I didn't order her death when she failed – Villa went rogue on me. However, I learned from my mistakes and I'm not planning on repeating them with you.”

 

Mari longed to believe him. “A better nation...” That sounded too good to be true. But it also sounded a lot like her own thoughts, and her own wishes. Wasn't that what she'd wanted all along? A better country, a better place to live in for her people? She couldn't do it on her own, though. “What is it you're planning to do then?”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for coming back and staying with me! *bows*

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new season, everyone!

— † —

 

 

Something isn't right. Someone is there, he can feel it, stalking them from the shadows, waiting for them to make a mistake. And he knows, knows as well as his own name, that the price for any slip-up will be their lives. Panic locks him in place – he can't open his eyes, can't raise his head to look, can't move a single muscle to push himself off the freezing floor and flee.

 

“Get up, Sergio! Run!”

 

The shout reverberated around his mind, the echo the only thing he could hear above the white noise in his ears. It was getting too hard to breathe on his back and he threw himself around onto his side, his hands shooting out to shake awake-

 

No one.

 

There was no one there.

 

His fingers curled uselessly in the sheets as he fought to regain his cool. The covers itched where they were clinging against his sweaty skin, too hot compared to what he expected, a cold forest ground edged with the first signs of winter frost. He kicked the blanket down to his knees and eased back to stare blankly at the ceiling. The white, spotless ceiling. No leaves, no stars. His breathing threatened to pick up again, but he forced himself to even it out instead of giving in to the urge to just gulp down as much air as he could fit in his heaving lungs. Closing his eyes, he repeated the mantras he had been living on for the past few weeks.

 

No one was coming after them.

 

No one was out to kill them.

 

Fernando was fine.

 

He still woke up – more often than not – expecting to find the prince sleeping right next to him, huddled up to his side to ward off the autumn chill in the mountains. And even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all to Dani who just wouldn't stop throwing him knowing glances over breakfast no matter how much he glowered, to find the space next to him empty actually hurt every damn time.

 

It was strange. After racing from one deathtrap to another, and never being able to rest, never being safe, sitting idle proved to be an insurmountable task. Just because Iker thought the time wasn't right to risk smuggling him out of the country. And Sergio was no fool, he knew he wouldn't get far without Iker's help. Still, being forced to spend day in and day out in the mind-numbing routine of sleeping, eating and pacing the few bleak square metres of his room was driving him insane. Slowly, but surely.

 

“Come on, bro. You can't stay holed up in here forever. It's not healthy.”

 

Sergio tried not to flinch when Cesc's voice cut through his thoughts. He almost succeeded. For a split-second, he pondered the option of not answering, even though the 'Yeah, thanks, I know.' was sitting on the tip of his tongue. He knew lying in bed all day wasn't healthy. Constantly wishing for time to turn itself back wasn't healthy. Aching for people who couldn't return to him wasn't healthy. And yet... That was exactly what he was doing. Iker's no contact rule only made it worse, for it meant he wasn't able to fill the void in his chest with anything but his own memories, his own thoughts, and that definitely wasn't enough.

 

Sergio actually considered telling Cesc all that, but then the little shit grabbed his ankle and tried to pull him over the edge of the bed, and he kicked him off with a curse and a glare instead. Pain flashed across his face as his shoulder twinged uncomfortably. “Get lost.”

 

But there was no real heat behind it, either, and Cesc seemed to get the hint. With a sigh, he toed off his boots and crawled up onto the bed, stretching himself out beside him. A minute of silence followed, then two, and it occurred to Sergio then that for the first time in a long while, Dani wasn't there with them. During the rare occasions they were home, away from whatever-they-were-doing-maybe-spying-on-the-princess-and/or-Ronaldo, the couple was spending every minute together, either holed up in their room or stubbornly spending time with Sergio (who, despite enjoying the company in secret, was giving them a pretty hard time for it). It had been a while since he'd thought of Cesc as 'Cesc' and not 'Dani and Cesc', and he realized how big of a buffer Dani – sweet, endearing Dani – actually was. He turned his head to steal a glance at Cesc, and found him watching him with the same thoughtful look.

 

“What,” he asked before Cesc could.

 

Cesc shrugged and turned onto his side, peering closely at his face, and Sergio wondered what he was searching for. “I know you miss them.” Sergio huffed and redirected his glare at the ceiling. He didn't want to talk about that, about them. Cesc, however, proved to be relentless. “I know what you're going through. When the palace was burning down around us, I thought I might never see Dani again.”

 

Great, now Cesc too. Sergio didn't take his eyes off the ceiling as he waved his words aside as if they didn't hurt. “That's different.”

 

“Is it?” Sergio didn't answer. “I knew you'd get all huffy about it.” Cesc pulled his phone from his pocket and smugly waved it around. “That's why I nicked the ship's number from Iker's phone. So you can make sure yourself.”

 

“What? Wait-” But Cesc had already pushed the call button. “Are you ins-”

 

A crackling sound coming from the phone cut him off. “This is SE-2 Vikinga, Second Officer Ba.”

 

Sergio exhaled sharply as he recognized the voice, but Cesc didn't pay him any heed. “Yes, hello. I need to speak to Chief Mate Ramos, please. It's urgent. Family affair.”

 

“Who is this?” There was a short pause, and when the officer spoke again, his tone had a worried edge to it. “Is it about Sergio? Is he okay?”

 

Sergio couldn't hold back any longer. “Hey, Demba.”

 

“Bambi!” Demba laughed loudly, relieved, and Sergio was glad for the memories the familiar sound brought – memories of happier and simpler times. “Don't scare me like that! You know my old heart wouldn't survive if anything happened to you!”

 

Sergio smiled despite himself. He'd never met the sailor in person before, but he knew from a few pictures René had shown him once that he was barely older than himself – but then again, he'd seen much more of the world than Sergio, so the age gap definitely proved to be wider in reality than on paper. “Sorry.”

 

“You haven't called in a while.” Demba clicked his tongue. “Which reminds me... Your brother wasn't exactly in tip-top condition either when he arrived. Everything okay with you two?”

 

“Yeah.” The pause had been longer than it should be, but Demba was taking it with good grace – or maybe he was catching on to the layer of despair clinging to his voice.

 

“Alright, Bambi. I'll go get your brother on the phone then, alright?”

 

Sergio breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

 

Cesc was watching him closely, as if he were trying to figure him out, so Sergio closed his eyes and listened to the muffled conversation on the other end of the line. Still, he was oddly grateful when Cesc crowded closer to him to listen, too. It almost felt like they were teenagers again, about to do something foolish, and they didn't want Iker or René to catch them red-handed. It was a feeling Sergio hadn't had access to in a long time, and it brought back a sense of family he'd thought lost amidst the turmoil of the past few weeks.

 

“You shouldn't have called.”

 

“Charming as ever,” Cesc quipped. “I know, but he's driving me crazy with his moping.” Sergio shoved him in the shoulder, and Cesc shoved him back with a slight grin. “He's here with me. Talk some sense into him.”

 

“Sese?”

 

Hearing his brother say his nickname in such a soft voice almost took his breath away, and he struggled to reply. “I'm here.” He couldn't help it then, he blurted out the first thought on his mind. “How is he?”

 

“Okay. He's okay. Fine, actually.” He could almost hear his brother smile. “He's sleeping right now, he was on the night shift. Should I-”

 

“No. No, it's alright.” Cesc gave him a funny look, but he closed his eyes against it. Hearing his voice, he knew, would make everything so much worse. “Just tell me how he's doing.”

 

Thankfully, René didn't comment on it. “He's adjusting pretty fast. To be honest, I was surprised at how eagerly he threw himself into the insane workload on board without any pre-existing job experience.”

 

“Having issues coping too, I bet,” Cesc mumbled under his breath, and it was his time to roll his eyes when Sergio sent him a murderous look.

 

“He's getting along great with the crew as well, and no one suspected a thing. I was worried about that, but yeah... you could say he's doing great.”

 

Sergio swallowed hard against the yearning creeping up his throat. “That's good.”

 

“How about you?”

 

“Better. Ready to go, actually...” He trailed off, but he didn't need to explain. And in return, René's sigh told him all he needed to know. His brother wouldn't back him in this.

 

“I know he doesn't want to risk it yet, Sese, and I wish he wasn't right. But he is. Just another week, maybe two, and then it's over. I promise.”

 

You promised before, Sergio thought before he could stop himself. And all of a sudden, René's voice, soothing and calming before, was pushing him closer to the dark hole he'd been hiding in for the past month. “I gotta go,” he choked out. “Tell him I said hi.”

 

“Wait-”

 

Sergio ended the call, his hand shaking around the thin frame of the phone. He was too cold and too hot at the same time, his heart was beating too fast, pushing against his ribs, and the need to get up and run was almost too powerful to resist: run from the suffocating four walls of his room, run from the safe house, from the city, the country. Run straight to Fernando.

 

Cesc seemed to sense his inner turmoil, and maybe his thoughts, too, because he pulled him closer and gently bumped his forehead against his. “If you think he forgot about you, you're an idiot.”

 

Sergio actually paused in his fretting, thinking back to the last clear memories he had of Fernando, of the concern edged into the sharp lines of his face, the affection. It had to count for something. “Maybe you're right.”

 

“I know I am.”

 

And maybe it was also about time he finally got to the bottom of the innuendos everyone kept dropping on him. “And why's that?”

 

“What? You mean why he looked at you like you were the bloody sun in the sky of his miserable life?” Sergio gave him a funny look, somehow caught between hope and disbelief. “You didn't have the time to see it when you two were on your own out there, but I did when we found you, and I'm not the only one. He cares about you, a lot, and you will know just how much when you see him again.”

 

“I hope you're right.”

 

“No need. I always am.” Cesc yawned and shifted into a more comfortable position. “Twenty euros says there'll be strings playing in the background when you two dorks meet again, like those love themes in movies.”

 

Sergio shook his head, but he couldn't deny Cesc's off-hand comments left a trace of warmth in the hollow void in his chest. “You suck,” he told his brother in all but blood and weakly swatted at his upper arm, “but I love you.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Cesc muttered as his eyes fell closed, but he was smiling. “Save it for him.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Something was off when he woke again. His heartrate was too calm and steady, as was his breathing, and his mind was too quiet and clear. He blinked up at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the typical murky dark of a big city night, trying to figure out what was wrong.

 

There had been no nightmare.

 

For the first time since waking up in a strange bed in a strange house, delirious with pain, he hadn't dreamt of blazing fire, of the stinging smell of smoke, of blood and dead eyes staring back at him. He hadn't dreamt of watching Fernando die right before his eyes.

 

He turned over, only to find they weren't alone anymore. Dani had somehow managed to wedge himself between the two of them without waking them up, and Cesc had instinctively curled around his lover in his sleep. He watched them for a moment, and it brought a smile to his face. For such a long time, they had been the only family left to him. But maybe it was time to move on now.

 

He carefully slipped over the edge of the bed and tiptoed over to the door. For a second or two, he hesitated in the doorway, looking back to them and memorizing the affection he felt when he watched them together. Then he pulled the door shut behind him. Avoiding the one board that creaked, he wandered down the stairs and into the living room – where he found Iker with his head buried in his crossed arms on the dinner table, a glass of whiskey sitting next to his elbow.

 

“Iker?”

 

“What?” Iker almost knocked over the tumbler in his haste to sit up straight and pull his messy hair into order, and the smile he gave him was thin and forced. In short, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. And like he hadn't been using his razor for longer than that. “Hey. Sorry, I didn't hear you coming.”

 

Sergio pulled the chair out across from him and sat down. He didn't smile back. “Or else you would've put on a show?” Iker frowned, but Sergio didn't let him deny it. “What's going on at the office? And don't bother with sugarcoating.”

 

Iker actually looked surprised at the steely undertone in his voice – no wonder, he'd never heard it before. What really amazed Sergio was that it worked. “Ronaldo is getting more powerful by the day, and we have no means to stop him. Neither in money nor in influence.”

 

“Doesn't Mari listen to you?”

 

A frown darkened Iker's face and he took a sip of the whiskey. “Not anymore. And not even Dani is getting through to her. It's not like she's shutting us out, not yet, but she will once Ronaldo gets her to do what he's been aiming for from the start. And right now, it may only be a matter of when and not if.”

 

“And what is that? What is his game?”

 

Iker passed the glass back and forth between his hands, watching the light reflect off the diamond patterns, and then he abruptly set it down with a bang before folding his hands on the table and fixing Sergio with a dark look. “He wants to make her Queen.”

 

Sergio felt like he'd been doused in freezing water. Iker sounded so sure... “She's not considering it, though, is she?!”

 

“From what I've seen – and that's very little these days – we might be bowing down before a new Queen before long.” Iker downed the last of the whiskey and rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. “It's exactly as I feared.”

 

“But how can you be so sure that-”

 

Iker cut him off with a sharp shake of the head. “She's dedicated her whole life to serving her country and her people, and Ronaldo is trying to convince her becoming Queen is her best bet. And I'm afraid he's going to succeed.”

 

Sergio took a deep breath and leant back in his chair. He may not care about Spain, not like Iker and Cesc and Dani did, but he cared about Fernando. And Mari becoming Queen would destroy him, he was sure of that. The siblings had just begun to reconcile, had just forged a bond that was still brittle and vulnerable. It may not survive the storm Mari's coronation would surely unleash. Sergio wasn't sure Fernando could take another loss, and to the throne even less so, to the monument that had lead to his own downfall in the first place.

 

“So what's the plan?”

 

This time, Iker hesitated even longer, but Sergio could see that he wasn't trying to think of a diversion or a lie to whitewash the tight spot he was finding himself in. Instead, he was gearing up for the truth. “There is no plan. I have no idea what to do.” He laughed a brief and bitter laugh. “You saw what happened last time I tried.”

 

Sergio didn't answer immediately. He could see the toll the turn of the tide was taking on Iker, on the ideals he'd been trying to protect for so many years. And now he was only going to add to the misery. But he didn't have a choice. He couldn't fight Iker's battles – and he didn't want to, either. They'd never been his. Besides, time was running out, now more than ever. He had to reach Fernando before the news hit the tabloids.

 

“I'm leaving. Tonight.” His voice wavered slightly on the last word, and he quickly continued before it would give out. “With or without your consent.”

 

Iker sat up straight. “Sergio-”

 

“Save it, Iker. I'm not asking.”

 

Iker cocked his head, but he didn't object as Sergio had feared. Instead, he studied him with unsettled eyes, and Sergio could see he was pushing the chess pieces back and forth in his mind, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of him leaving ahead of schedule. It was unnerving, to say the least, but Sergio didn't move, didn't dare interrupt the game of power Iker was playing with an invisible opponent in his head. He couldn't contribute either way. His inability to roll with his head instead of his heart had been complicating matters right from the start. And he'd do it just like that all over again.

 

Iker finally gave him a reluctant nod. “As you wish. I'll have Dani-” Sergio would never know what Iker was going to have Dani do, because the headlights of a car passed across Iker's face and then shut off. Sergio's heartrate picked up as he watched Iker jump off his chair and creep over to the window to check. A car passing down the street outside wasn't unusual. A car pulling into their driveway uninvited when all of them were home – now that was indeed unusual. And judging by Iker's face when he turned back to him, the surprise wasn't a pleasant one.

 

“Go upstairs,” Iker demanded and waved at him with both hands. “And no matter what happens down here, don't show your face.”

 

“Iker, who-”

 

“Go!”

 

It wasn't the word that made him obey. And it certainly wasn't that he was scared of whoever was walking up to their front door just then (he was much too curious to be afraid). Rather, it was the naked fear in Iker's voice. He'd never seen Iker afraid before. He'd also never before seen Iker flinch at a knock on the door. It was enough to make his blood run cold. He tumbled off the edge of his chair and rushed up the stairs, his heart thundering in his chest. His breathing seemed incredibly loud in the shadows of the stairwell, and as he cowered on the landing half way up, peering through the gaps in the railing, he pressed his forearm to his mouth, so he wouldn't give himself away immediately.

 

Still, he didn't catch the voice of the visitor introducing himself at the front door, and Iker's greeting was equally lost. Therefore, he wasn't prepared when Iker led the way into the living room, followed by Cristiano Ronaldo.

 

_Cristiano Ronaldo._

 

Sergio's heart gave out for a beat or two. He watched, petrified, as Ronaldo eyed the empty tumbler on the table and then casually dropped down into the seat Sergio had just vacated, leaning back and making himself comfortable. As if he owned the house himself. Iker didn't rise to the bait – which could be down to the two bodyguards blocking the doorway and the guns sitting ready in their hands. That didn't keep him from staring the intruder down with a glare that screamed bloody murder, though.

 

Ronaldo, unfazed by the hostile reception, gave Iker a smile that showed too many of his startlingly white teeth, and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “Right. I see you're not one for pleasantries.” He reached for the tumbler and sniffed the remaining drops, humming appreciatively. “Let's get down to business then. My tech staff intercepted a very interesting call this afternoon.”

 

A call. Their call. Sergio gasped for air, his body uncurling almost against his will and yet unsure what to do, caught between running down the stairs and saving Iker and running to scream for help. He didn't get far, though, as he bumped into someone perching behind him on the step right above the landing. It was pure luck that had Cesc being faster than him, covering his mouth with his hand so his startled yell wouldn't give them away.

 

“Hush, it's me,” he hissed into his ear. “Don't move.”

 

Sergio's breath caught in his throat as Ronaldo's gaze suddenly crossed the open doorway to the hall and the stairs. Was it just him or did he linger for a second? Was that a curious tilting of the head? Or a suspicious frown? His shoulders tensed as his flight instinct kicked in, but Cesc kept him pinned to the stairs, and he could feel his heart pounding against his back, just as fast as his own.

 

“No! If they catch us, they're gonna start shooting!”

 

There was nothing they could do. Nothing but sit in silence as Ronaldo grinned at Iker. “So... care to share?”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! The next chapter is once again gonna take a while - kudos for your patience! :)

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive! I can't believe it's been almost a year since I last updated this story, and I am _truly_ sorry about that! I had a lot on my plate, and then I decided to throw the ending I had prepared to the wolves and write something completely different. Even though it took _ages_ to get it done properly, I think it's way better than what I had in mind before. I hope you're going to agree, when the time comes (almost there!).  
>  To anyone who is still reading this: thank you so much! I really appreciate it!

— † —

 

 

“A call, huh?” Iker had regained his composure remarkably quickly, and he stretched himself out in his chair, pointedly snatching back his tumbler and carefully setting it back down on his side of the table. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

 

Ronaldo tilted his head, his eyebrows rising questioningly, and there was a thin smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and Sergio had a hard time keeping his gasping breath under control. They'd been so stupid. So goddamn _stupid!_

 

“You know,” Ronaldo started, and his voice sounded mildly surprised, “if I didn't know better, I'd think you really didn't know.”

 

Iker simply shrugged, but the seemingly careless motion couldn't hide the fact that his whole body was on edge, watching for a crack in Ronaldo's armour, waiting for his opponent's next move. Waiting for the perfect moment to reach beneath the table for the gun mounted beneath the wood. “Think what you will, but please be so kind and enlighten me as to what call your slaves got their scruffy little fingers on. I haven't got all day.”

 

Ronaldo laughed lightly, obviously delighted by the exchange of petty verbal blows. “There's no need to get shirty with me, Iker.” He leant forward as if to share a particularly well-kept secret. “You may even consider us allies.”

 

“I highly doubt that. And it's Casillas to you.”

 

“Of course. As for the call... It gave me the exact location of the prince – who, by the way, is not dead – and of the rogue guard who was accused of abducting him – and who, isn't that a surprise, is not dead, either. Naturally, that led me to wondering what kind of fishy business was going down in your little lair.”

 

To his credit, Iker didn't give Ronaldo the satisfaction of shock. Instead, he simply shrugged and inclined his head towards his glass. “All the fishy business you may find in my _lair_ is between me and my friend Laphroaig here.”

 

“Very well,” Ronaldo replied in the same casual tone, but Sergio could hear the edge Iker's show of insolence had called up. “Mr. Casillas, let's cut to the chase then. Who do you think left that trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow? A scandal here, some evidence there, the intel on the falsified local budget last year, the Manogo files...”

 

Sergio felt Cesc shifting uneasily behind him, and he turned his head to try and catch his expression in the dark, but to no avail. Iker himself was obviously fighting hard to keep any reaction to Ronaldo's words under wraps, but it was easy enough to see he thought it should be impossible for his opponent to know about these cases. In a helpless attempt to keep in the game, he stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying, but Ronaldo didn't need him to do either. “There were times when you thought it was way too easy, right? I'm sorry to break it to you, Iker, but it was. I must admit I'm very glad you didn't question your luck – nor Villa's loyalty, for that matter.”

 

Iker had been growing paler and paler while Ronaldo talked, and Sergio had to close his eyes tightly as he fought down the bile rising in his throat. The spiderweb they'd been caught in was getting thicker and thicker, and he was sick of discovering yet another layer. A tiny part of his mind was rioting, livid that Iker hadn't realized what was going on, that he had been too focused on victory to see that every stone he had broken from the wall around the Queen had been given to him. By Ronaldo, and then by Villa.

 

Villa and Ronaldo. Working together. Now _that_ made perfect sense. Ronaldo needed Villa's standing and his ties to the local Mob to infiltrate the security staff of the Palace. Villa on the other hand needed Ronaldo's brains as well as his money to set it all up. They could've never pulled it off without the other. Wealth and intelligence could only take you so far, but in the end, brute strength was what it took to topple a kingdom. No wonder they'd never stood a chance.

 

Iker seemed to reach the same conclusion, since his fingers slowly but surely inched towards the gun beneath the table. “You're right. It was too easy.”

 

Ronaldo couldn't possibly know about the gun, but he still guessed correctly what the shift of balance was all about. “Don't,” he said, so softly it actually stilled Iker's hand. Sergio held his breath so he wouldn't miss a word, and he felt Cesc doing the same. “Just to make things clear: I have no interest in hunting down the prince and your boy, and – contrary to what you may believe – I don't enjoy blackmailing and killing, either. You were a vital ally, Iker, and you played your part in bringing down the Queen. But if I should find you standing in my way, remember this: to make this country a better place, I will hunt, I will blackmail, and I will kill.”

 

The words, despite being spoken so quietly, weighed heavy on the air, and for a few long moments, neither of the two moved as they sized each other up across the table. It seemed like they continued their game of chess within their minds, unseen by any of the spectators crowding the sidelines. And then Iker sighed, just as quietly, and leant back in his chair, his hands resting in his lap. He knew when he'd been bested, and he knew exactly where the line was, the glowing red line that meant he was going to lose everyone he held dear if he tread across.

 

Still, he couldn't help but try one last time, even if everyone present could tell he wasn't intend on following through with it. “I wonder what the princess would say if I ratted you out. I'm sure she'd be less than thrilled to learn about your hand in her mother's death.”

 

Ronaldo thought about it for a second, and the breath he let out slowly betrayed how tightly his own nerves had been wound up after all. The victory obviously didn't taste as sweet as he would've liked. “Well, yes. You could do that. But why risk your life and those of your family to find out? Think about it. Why should she believe you?”

 

Iker smiled a small rueful smile as he raised a hand to tap his fingers against his glass of whiskey, the high chime ringing around the living room and sending a shiver down Sergio's spine. “Yeah, why should she?”

 

“Anyway.” Ronaldo carefully pulled himself up onto his feet and turned to leave. “I believe we're finished here.” He didn't offer his hand to Iker, and the journalist didn't move to see him out, either. However, Ronaldo stopped again in the doorway, uncaring about baring his vulnerable back to Iker. “Whatever you do, Mr. Casillas, don't underestimate me. And don't overestimate yourself.”

 

Sergio could barely wait until the door had fallen shut behind Ronaldo and his bodyguards, and it seemed to take ages before their car had pulled out of their driveway and disappeared down the street. But then he finally pushed himself off the landing, almost tripping down the stairs in his haste to reach Iker, Cesc close on his heels. He didn't even acknowledge their presence, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the table.

 

“Iker,” Cesc called him, his voice breathless. “Iker, what now?”

 

“You're leaving. Tonight. All of you.”

 

Cesc made a low indignant noise in the back of his throat. “What the-”

 

“Plan B, Cesc.” Iker finally looked up at him, and the dark look on his face didn't leave room for arguments. “That's what. Plan B.”

 

Sergio's gaze jumped back and forth between them. Plan B. Cesc seemed to know what that was supposed to be, because he snapped his mouth shut even though his eyes still promised resistance. “Iker,” Sergio tried, hesitantly, even though he had little hope of actually getting an answer. “What does that mean?”

 

“You get what you want. You will go to René, and to Fernando. Tonight. Cesc and Dani will go with you.”

 

“But what about you?”

 

Iker looked back down at the glass before him, his fingers idly picking at the rim. The nonchalant motion couldn't hide the tension in his body, though, and the tight lock of his shoulders. “There are some things I have to wrap up first. I can't leave just yet.” He abruptly pushed himself up onto his feet, and the resignation in his voice turned to steel. “But you will. Go wake Dani. I want you gone within the hour.”

 

Sergio opened his mouth to protest, but Cesc was already on him, hooking his arm under his elbow and pulling him towards the staircase. He didn't fight back, but he turned his head on the first step, looking back at Iker, and so he didn't miss him covering his face with his hands, didn't miss how his whole body shook for a second as he ruthlessly suppressed the despair threatening to break out. Despair – or maybe anger, it was hard to tell.

 

But then Cesc tugged hard on his arm and he lost sight of his mentor. And as he finally set his sights on leaving Spain and turning his back on everything that didn't matter anymore, he didn't care about the distinction. Even as worry for Iker constricted his heart, his mind turned down a darker alley, and he couldn't help but think that, after all, Iker was finally reaping what he'd sown – guided by Ronaldo or not, that didn't matter here.

 

He was sick of being a pawn, sick of being pushed around on an imaginary board, and he didn't waste time with wondering about what Iker was planning to do on his own. Plan B – as if. It had always been Plan A for him anyway.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Saying good-bye was a sombre affair, and as short as could be expected in the – by Sevillan standards – surprisingly unsociable weather. Icy winds were lashing across the harbour landing, hissing as they tore mercilessly at loose ribbons and worn seams on their winter jackets, and the air tasted of sea and snow alike, even though the latter was highly unlikely in the comfortable climate of Andalusia. Maybe it was only wishful thinking. Slow flakes certainly would have been a beautiful addition to the spectacular view of a bright and cloudless dawn climbing the horizon at an ever-increasing pace. They were right on time.

 

“Iker!”

 

Iker quickly turned, blinking to get his head back in the present. Captain Ortega was swiftly crossing the footbridge leading down to the landing, hand raised high in greeting. He could just about make out the gleaming grin on his dark face, and he automatically grinned back despite himself. “Captain,” he greeted with a mock salute. “It's been a while.”

 

“Yes.” Ortega's grin turned into a smirk as they embraced. “Not nearly long enough.”

 

Iker huffed and opened his mouth to deliver a witty retort, but Ortega's focus had already shifted to Dani, Cesc and Sergio, standing behind him in a close huddle to ward off the freezing wind. “So that's my cargo?” When the young men traded uncertain glances between themselves, the captain chuckled, extending a hand. “Just kidding. Name's Oye Ortega, pleased to have you on board.”

 

They took his hand one by one, each muttering their names almost too quietly to be caught, and Iker bit his tongue when a fond taunt tried to get past his lips. Saying farewell (and a farewell it would be) was already hard enough as it was, no need to make it worse by reminding them of the deadly shadow chasing them this far. And with deadly shadow, he didn't mean Ronaldo's goon who had followed them all the way down here from Madrid and who was – for Iker's eyes, at least – anything but subtle as he hid in a crowd of sailors at the end of the dock, watching them closely.

 

The deadly shadow Iker was thinking of had no palpable form, no face and no name. It was a monstrous mess of past mistakes, of rash decisions and careless steps off the right path into self-righteous territory. And there had been many of either, drunk on short-lived victory and make-believe invincibility. Once, he had thought the future of his country to be his to create, his to protect – from people like the Queen, Ronaldo, the princess even. But now he knew the battle had moved on without him, and all that was left to do was alleviate the damage left in its wake.

 

“Iker.” Ortega's voice held a slight edge as he peered past Iker's shoulder, and he didn't need to follow his gaze to know the captain had also spotted their tail. “We should get going.”

 

Iker nodded. “We'll make it short.” He pulled the captain in for a tight embrace. “Thank you, old friend.”

 

As Ortega hurried up the footbridge with a last tap to his captain's hat, Dani was the first to fling himself into Iker's arms. “Catch up as soon as you can! We'll keep you updated on our route!”

 

Iker didn't suppress the fond laughter, even though he couldn't erase all traces of sadness tainting the edges. “I will.”

 

“Promise?”

 

The instinctive response was already waiting, but before he could answer, he locked eyes with Cesc over Dani's head, and the white lie withered in his throat. He raised an eyebrow at his charge, a weak challenge that lacked its usual sharpness. Cesc didn't respond to it either way, his face betraying none of his thoughts. Sergio was watching the exchange with a sceptical frown that told Iker he wasn't as transparent as he'd feared, and he was grateful for this small mercy.

 

“Dani, you heard the captain.” Cesc carefully freed Iker from his lover's embrace and slipped into his place, his voice clipped and on edge as they briefly embraced. “We gotta go.”

 

“Stay safe,” Iker told them and watched as they climbed the bridge, unsteady on the unfamiliar ground. “And say hi to René for me!”

 

Sergio slowly stepped up to his side. “He will like that.”

 

Iker turned away from Dani's parting wave with a false grin already in place, but it too faltered when he caught the expression on Sergio's face. It was closed off, distant, and he made no move to embrace Iker, either. “Have an eye on your brother, will you?”

 

His attempt at joking failed spectacularly as Sergio stared him down, his eyes dark and as cold as the air they were both exhaling in foggy white clouds. “If you sent them to convince Fernando to come back here and help negotiate with the princess...” His gaze skittered away, as if chasing a thought, and came to rest on the horizon where the sun would soon appear. He finally settled on a shrug.

 

Iker almost raised an amused eyebrow at the unusual display of territorial protectiveness, but he knew better than to give in to that urge. Sergio had made his point, if not with words. He carefully kept his face and voice as serious as he could manage as he met the veiled threat head-on. “I didn't. The risk would be too high and the danger too great.”

 

And the chance of success too small either way, he added in the safety of his own head. Sergio seemed content with his answer, though, and he finally stepped forward to share an embrace that was just this side of too cold. If Iker were to be honest with himself, he would admit it stung more than he had expected it would, but that burden was undoubtedly his to bear.

 

“See you,” Sergio muttered as he retreated, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder.

 

“Wait!” The plea slipped out before he could stop it, and Iker very nearly followed it up with a curse. He'd almost made it without making a fool of himself! Sergio turned back to him, curious despite himself. Iker sighed. Now that he'd started, he might as well follow through. “I'm sorry. For everything you had to go through, you and Fernando.” He quickly held up a hand when Sergio frowned and tried to interrupt. “Listen, just let me say it. I know it's hard for you to believe, now, but I _am_ sorry. I hope you can forgive me, one day.”

 

Sergio gave him a strange look, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to answer. But then he just nodded once and, without a word, climbed up the landing. He didn't look back. Iker was glad for it. After all, his sense of self-preservation was still intact, and he didn't care to draw this out any longer than it needed to be. He didn't pay any heed to Ronaldo's thug as he passed him on his way down the landing. The urge to look back to the ship was almost too powerful, though, and his shoulders were locked painfully tight when he finally reached his car.

 

He stuck the key into the ignition, but he didn't turn it immediately. A sudden wave of mindless panic welled up in his ribcage, and he struggled to breathe through it. Don't falter now, he admonished himself, they are gone. Finally, they are safe. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and counted to ten to get rid of any lingering sentiment.

 

He had no more need of that now.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Again, many thanks to those who are still with me! Bless you! :)

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting this done, I swear. :D Almost finished!

— † —

 

 

Sergio was sure the view across Apapa Harbour and onto the city of Lagos was quite extraordinary, especially at this time of year when the sun wasn't as merciless as it could be, and the cool sea breeze was a pleasant whisper across bare skin. Not to mention the impressive containerships manoeuvring through the narrow waterway with skill and ease. He didn't see any of it, though. He couldn't care less about the view beyond the railing as he restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to will Captain Ortega with his mind to stop talking already and just let them go.

 

He was grateful – really, he was. He didn't even know how Iker had managed to land them passage to Nigeria on such short notice, complete with two meals a day and nothing demanded in return but a few easy chores here and there. But then again, Iker rarely ever did anything on short notice. He might just as well have planned this coup years ago, had probably been saving the favour Ortega owed him for ten years before he called on it.

 

_Plan B._ Sergio almost scoffed at the thought. Iker probably hadn't been planning on exposing Dani and Cesc along with himself when he delivered his final blow. It didn't really matter now... As grateful as Sergio was for 'Plan B' – he was just too close now to enjoy any more of Ortega's endless supply of stories.

 

But the kind old mariner just wouldn't stop assuring them how wonderful their company had been and how welcome they were on board his ship should they ever feel inclined to sail back to Spain – again, a bitter noise almost made it past Sergio's lips. There certainly would be no 'back to Spain' for him. Still, he forced a smile and nodded at appropriate moments, and secretly scowled at the reluctance of Cesc and Dani to put an end to the farewell shenanigans. To distract himself, he scanned the crowd forming at the foot of the narrow bridge, sailors looking for work, sailors off-duty exiting ships, vendors calling for their attention, his brother-

 

_René._

 

Sergio sucked in a surprised breath, and his body almost moved of its own accord. Only half-way down the bridge did he remember his manners and he turned back to Ortega who was watching him trip down the footbridge with the unflappable amusement of age. “Thank you, Captain! Thank you, but please excuse me! Gotta go!”

 

René wagged his finger at him when he finally reached him. “Rude, little brother,” he admonished as he pulled him into a tight and yet careful embrace, but Sergio could hear he was grinning. “Good to see you! How's the shoulder?”

 

Sergio's own smile dimmed as he sought René's gaze. “Stiff. It still hurts now and again, but it's getting better every day.”

 

René opened his mouth as if to inquire further, but Dani and Cesc were suddenly standing beside them, and he instead busied himself with hugs and greetings. Beneath the obvious joy of the reunion, Sergio didn't miss the searching glance his brother turned upon the surrounding crowd, as if he were expecting someone else.

 

“He's not coming,” Dani said quietly, almost apologetic. “Not yet.”

 

“I see. Let's get going then.” René visibly shook himself and then surveyed the sparse luggage they carried. “That all? Good. Oh, and in case you were wondering where Fernando is-” Sergio actually startled when René gave him a pointed look. He hadn't been wondering. (He totally had.) “He went to bed after his shift less than an hour ago, and I didn't want to wake him. Besides, I didn't tell him you were coming.”

 

Seriously? “René...” His brother could be such a hopeless romantic if he was in the mood. Right then, it did nothing to prevent his heart from pushing hard against the cage of his ribs. “You can't be serious.”

 

René flicked Sergio's ear and easily dodged when he automatically raised his hand to return the favour. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You're not afraid, are you?”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Afraid? No. Terrified? Yes. Sergio was man enough to admit that the line between barely contained excitement and inexplicable terror was very thin as he watched his brother knock sharply on the door to Fernando's cabin. It was strange how eager he'd suddenly been to postpone his reunion with Fernando for just a few minutes longer. Meeting Demba face to face for the first time had definitely eased the permanent tension in his body somewhat – being greeted with 'Hey, Bambi!' almost felt like home already (and just thinking about meeting the prince again – here, under these circumstances that were so utterly different – had made him sick with all the unanswered questions that were tied to it).

 

But it was too late to back out now anyway, and when Fernando finally opened the door, his eyes squinting at them through the gap, he found it didn't matter at all. For a split-second, Fernando frowned at the unexpected intrusion, but then his face lit up like a beacon when at last he recognized Sergio. His shoulder complained with a slight pinch as Fernando pulled him across the threshold and crushed him in a tight embrace, but Sergio ruthlessly pushed the pain back into the dark corner it had come from and returned it just as tightly.

 

“Fernando,” he breathed, and he was certain he could hear his own name returned to him.

 

He had to narrow his eyes against the sudden half-darkness when the door clicked shut behind them, blocking out the bright neon glare from the hallway lights. He loosened his hold on Fernando and then drew back to get a good look at him in the dim glint of the small bedside lamp. It almost took him back to the last time he had done so, anxiously checking Fernando over for any injuries after freeing him from the ties binding him to his own bed, but one look at the prince dissolved the ghost of the terrible helplessness he'd felt back then.

 

His hair was longer, but trimmed neatly, the light catching in the golden strands, and it was an astounding contrast to the dirty self-inflicted stubble Sergio remembered. So was his skin, darkened by working outside day in and day out – gone was the aristocratic pallor and with it the air of sickness that had clung to him. The hard work had also filled out his lanky frame, lean muscles covering the fragile bones Sergio could still see so vividly in his mind. He looked healthy. Healthy and content.

 

“Well, look at you,” Sergio finally said, raising a hand to playfully ruffle Fernando's hair in a questionable attempt to mask the fact he'd been staring for too long. “You've cleaned up nicely!”

 

Fernando scoffed and swatted at his hand, but he was smiling. “I can't say the same about you, McClane. You look just as rumpled as you did when I left.” The smile suddenly slid off his face, only to be replaced by open concern, and his voice was much quieter when he continued. “You're better, though, aren't you? You looked... awful... when I saw you last. I didn't know if-”

 

He trailed off, painfully aware he had just ruined the mood, and helplessly stared at Sergio's shoulder. The faraway look on his face suggested he remembered the wound all too clearly. Sergio stopped to think back on it almost against his will, and he recalled nothing more but blinding pain and the feeling of his blood pulsing past the ragged ridges of the hole the bullet had punched into his shoulder. The first time he'd actually seen it in the bathroom mirror, it had already scabbed over, resembling more a nasty graze than a bullet wound.

 

“Yeah,” he quickly replied, as convincing as he could manage for the sake of them both, and he was relieved to see Fernando relax slightly. “I'm fine.”

 

“I'm sorry, you know, for leaving. I would've stayed if-”

 

“I know.” He tried a sincere smile, and Fernando hesitantly returned it. “Have you forgotten I'm the invincible Sergio Ramos? A simple bullet won't stop me.” The joke fell flat between them, the memories behind it too powerful to ignore, but it prompted a nervous chuckle out of Fernando nonetheless, which quickly turned into a smothered yawn.

 

“Oh right, my brother said you'd just finished your shift.” Sergio quickly turned to the door. “I will, uh-” Fernando's long fingers slowly closed around his wrist – they were stronger now, he noted, and calloused – and he stopped mid-rant.

 

“Stay?”

 

“You sure?”

 

Fernando hesitated for a second or two, his hands worrying the hem of his sleep-softened shirt. “Yeah.” He gave his roughed up bunk an assessing glance. “It's not much, but-”

 

“Hey, at least it's a bed.”

 

Again, the joke dropped right through, and Sergio hid the embarrassed blush on his cheeks by shedding his own clothes until he was down to his shirt and boxers. Fernando didn't comment on it as he respectfully turned and got into bed, offering his vulnerable back without a second thought. It probably shouldn't mean so much, but Sergio already felt like every motion and every word passing between them meant much more than either of them could grasp. It left him on edge when he finally eased beneath the covers, mindful of leaving as much blank space between him and Fernando as possible.

 

He was almost reminded of the nights they had spent in the woods, with no one to rely on but each other, no one to trust but each other. It was weird how scared he was now compared to then, too scared to reach across the final few inches between them, now that they were not on their own anymore. But he could feel Fernando's warmth crossing the air between them, could feel his shallow breaths, as though he was waiting for something to happen.

 

And maybe they had both been waiting for this, he thought, as he finally moved closer, slowly curling his body around Fernando until his forehead came to rest between his shoulder blades. He could actually feel the prince suck in a surprised gasp of air, his spine gently pushing back as his chest expanded with the deep breath he took. Sergio also didn't miss the slight shudder that ran down his frame when his hand covered Fernando's waist, his thumb tracing the ribs beneath his shirt that weren't as prominent as they used to be.

 

Fernando shifted in his arms, deeper into his embrace, and then he stilled again. “I missed you,” he admitted so softly Sergio almost didn't catch it.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Fernando nodded, the rustling of his hair against the sheets suddenly very loud in the expectant quiet. “Yeah.” When he moved to turn around, Sergio loosened his hold, but he didn't let go, didn't shy away from facing Fernando, who felt the hope in his chest expand until it hurt. “I couldn't sleep for two days straight after we left Madrid. I was _so tired_ , you know, but I just... couldn't calm down without you there.”

 

Sergio raised his eyebrows, blinking, and Fernando grimaced at his own words. He certainly hadn't been planning on blurting that out unfiltered. After dragging the guard – and being dragged by him – through hell, surely Sergio wouldn't appreciate listening to him whine about-

 

He wasn't prepared for Sergio hurling forward like that, and he certainly wasn't prepared for him being so fast, so his surprised intake of breath only made it half-way into his lungs before Sergio's lips were on his. His mind immediately began tossing bits and pieces of torn thoughts at him – wow, what the-, no, yes yes yes! – before Sergio moved his hands up to cradle his face, and the noise in his head petered out into blissful radio silence.

 

There was nothing urgent about their kiss, nothing like in the old movies Fernando had been allowed to watch by the nursemaid when his mother was out. It wasn't desperate, or hungry, or even passionate. It was really nothing more than their lips touching, moving gently, more soothing than kissing. And yet it was overwhelming in its simplicity, and in its promise of more, there will be more, we have time, all the time in the world.

 

Something settled in his chest, something he didn't even know had been loose all this time they had spent apart, and he couldn't help a soft sigh. Sergio pulled back, and Fernando blinked his eyes open to find him smiling – truly smiling, without the reservation that had been etched into it earlier. “Did I ever thank you? For everything you've done for me?”

 

Sergio cocked his head, frowning dismissively. “It was-”

 

Fernando growled before he could stop himself, his old temper scratching at the surface. “If the next word out of your mouth was going to be 'nothing', I swear I'm going to hit you.”

 

Surprisingly, Sergio didn't rise to meet the bait. Instead, he smiled a smile that said Fernando was being silly, but that he was being loved for it, and Fernando found himself at a loss. Open displays of love hadn't really been a part of his life – until Sergio, that was, and right now, Fernando found it increasingly harder to imagine his life without either. “What?”

 

“Well...” Sergio drew the word out as he thought about his answer. “I was going to say 'my duty', but I guess that's not really the heart of it.”

 

Fernando raised a challenging eyebrow, not yet ready to let go of the suspicion burning beneath his skin. “Then what is?”

 

Again, Sergio carefully thought about what he was going to say, and Fernando couldn't shake the feeling he was just discovering for himself what the answer would be. “My heart,” he finally said, and then he nodded, apparently pleased with his reply. “Yeah.”

 

Fernando had no idea what that meant – at all – so he gave Sergio a confused and slightly indignant look. “Your heart is the heart of you risking your life for me more times than I can-” He abruptly cut himself off as he suddenly understood what Sergio was hinting at, must be hinting at. “Oh,” was all he could manage. “Okay.”

 

Now it was Sergio's turn to raise an eyebrow. “That's all?”

 

Fernando shook his head at himself and then ducked his chin to hide the truly silly smile threatening to break out. “No, and you know it.”

 

Sergio's gentle grip on his jaw stopped him. “No,” he said, softly but urgently, and carefully forced his eyes up to meet his. “I don't know. Tell me.”

 

The words didn't come easy to him, but he was determined to pay Sergio back in kind. “I didn't take my own heart back with me when they dragged me out of that forest, Sese.” The use of his nickname was a conscious choice, and he knew it was the right one when Sergio's eyes lit up. “Didn't you know you already carried it with you when you came back for me? Are you really that daft?”

 

The last one slipped out uninvited, but it did the job. Sergio laughed out loud, the sound effectively shattering the last lingering remains of tension between them, and when he pulled him in for another kiss, Fernando went willingly and without hesitation. He fell asleep pressed up against Sergio's side, much like he had in that star-studded clearing all those weeks ago, but now his mind was blissfully quiet and – for the first time in many years – he was not afraid of what awaited him in the morning.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Finally, the boys are reunited!

 


	21. Epilogue I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, folks! As you can probably tell, I'm as reluctant to let this story go as I am excited to see it finished. The latter won out, though, so I'm finally going to post the two epilogues. (Can't believe it took me so long. But that's life. ^^)

— † —

 

 

_Black, black, black._

 

_The forest was black. The ice on the ground, the gun, the water –_

 

Sergio sucked in a deep breath as he clawed his way into consciousness. He blinked rapidly for a few frantic seconds before he remembered why the darkness was so complete, why there were no stars shining overhead. The mattress beneath him was nestling up seamlessly against his back, comfortably warm and soft, compared to the freezing ground he had expected. As always, there was something weighing him down, but this time, it was a familiar weight, not the air turning to lead in his lungs.

 

And yet, he had to be sure, had to see for himself.

 

Quickly and yet as carefully as he could, he reached out towards the bedside lamp, his trembling fingers uselessly running along the smooth wall for a moment before he found the switch. The sudden flash of light was hurting his eyes, but he didn't close them against the stinging pain.

 

He had to be _sure_.

 

Fernando, it seemed, didn't agree with the sentiment. “Damn...,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “How am I supposed to sleep in this racket?”

 

Sergio frowned slightly. He hadn't- “I didn't say anything.”

 

Fernando huffed again, louder this time, but Sergio could actually feel him chuckling more than he heard it, the slight tremors shuddering up his ripcage where he lay snuggled up against his side. “No. But you're thinking so loud it's making _my_ head hurt.”

 

“Pfff,” Sergio scoffed as his reluctant smile chased away the last looming remnants of the dream. “Do shut up.”

 

“You know I won't.” Fernando raised his head then, to grant him the full view of the smug smirk on his face. “Isn't that part of my appeal?”

 

“Ha, no! It's a dreadful trait I merely put up with.”

 

Fernando hummed in understanding, and his face was so happy, so beautiful in that moment that Sergio couldn't resist leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I see,” Fernando quipped when he was free to talk again. “Like them silent, do you?”

 

Sergio fell back to the bed with an exaggerated groan, but it soon morphed into laughter. “God, no!”

 

“Good.” Fernando joined in as he draped himself over his chest, resting his chin on his folded arms. “This is nice.”

 

Sergio's laughter petered out as he tried to catch his breath, but it seemed like there was no room in his chest for air, as it was filled to the brim with a happiness he hadn't thought could be entirely real before – before in his awfully safe and boring routine of a life, before in the awfully unsafe and almost fatal race for their lives. It was almost strong enough to hurt, but Sergio would take that pain any day if it meant Fernando would always look at him like that.

 

“Yes,” he said, quiet and serious, and he bit back the curse that almost followed, because he didn't seem to have the words to explain how much it meant to him. “Yeah, it's nice. I love the bed. And the ceiling. And that nobody's shooting at us.”

 

“Yeah?” Fernando's voice was teasing, as was his smile. “What else?”

 

Sergio gave in immediately. “You. I love you.” There was no more use in pretending he didn't. It seemed like everybody knew, and besides, he had been powerless from the start. He was just as powerless to stop the next words from tumbling out into the open. “I wish I could've spared you all that pain.”

 

The playful joy in Fernando's eyes shattered right away, and for a terrifying second, Sergio feared he'd caused him even more sorrow. But then something else took over, something bigger and deeper, and when Fernando reached out to gently touch his face, he could breathe again.

 

“I lost a lot, yeah. But what I gained definitely outweighs it by far.” He gave Sergio a smile, faint and brittle, but no less sincere. “I wouldn't trade what I found in you for anything.”

 

He said it so easily, even casually, that Sergio was struck dumb for a moment. The Fernando he'd met all those weeks ago in a getaway car would have bitten his face off for saying something so cheesy – figuratively, or literally if caught in a particularly nasty mood. And yet here he was, smiling as he rested his head on Sergio's chest, getting comfortable for another nap. Marvellous, he thought, the changes people were capable of when faced with life-altering and potentially life-ending choices. For good and for bad.

 

“Stop it,” Fernando mumbled, followed closely by a yawn. “You're doing it again.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

Fernando was already fast asleep by the time Sergio finally managed to let go of the tension that seemed to have wormed its way past his skin, past the layer of muscles, settling right in his bones. Old habits would surely die hard (he smiled faintly at the pun), and he knew it would take some time until he would stop looking over his shoulder, even when surrounded by the people he trusted most. But he had to start somewhere, and this was as good a place as any.

 

He switched off the lamp and immediately closed his eyes against the darkness surrounding them. It felt different now, less like a threat and more like a shield. He didn't need light to feel Fernando's heart beat against his skin, to feel him breathe deep and steady, to feel his soft hair slide through his fingers. It suddenly occurred to him that he owed Cesc twenty euros – there had been no strings playing in the background when they met again, but there certainly would have been if a quartet had been available. The silly thought made him laugh, more of a soft snort than anything else, so he wouldn't wake Fernando.

 

Where they were going, the foreign money was useless anyway.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Now, what exactly is Iker up to?

 


	22. Epilogue II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is good-bye for 'Survivor'. Considering I was planning on writing a oneshot, this kinda got out of hand. ;D I thank you all who commented, left kudos and cheered me on. And as always, I send a ton of bear hugs and kisses to lumaste, whose opinion and encouragement made this possible. Thank you, my dear!

— † —

 

 

The picture wasn't exactly pretty. It was grainy, the angle was all wrong, and the flash was too bright. But it had all the people he cared about in one place, and that was what made it special. He smoothed over the well-worn edges of the photograph, taken years ago, when René had still been with them. The older of the Ramos brothers was rolling his eyes in the picture, while the boys were laughing uproariously about something or other. A wave of regret immediately threatened to rise up, and he quickly took a drag of the cigarette, watching the smoke as it drifted towards the ceiling, an eerie blue in the cold light of the computer screen.

 

“Mr. Casillas?”

 

He almost dropped the cigarette as he abruptly sat upright in his office chair. Smoke curled unpleasantly in his mouth, and he coughed to get rid of it, bending away from the phone in his hand. “Sorry, yes, I'm still here.”

 

The woman on the other end of the line graciously pretended she didn't hear the uncomfortable rasp in his voice. Small mercies. “Thank you for holding. Unfortunately, I can't find your name on any list. Are you sure you had an appointment with Her Highness?”

 

“Listen...”

 

Thankfully, the woman read the pause correctly. “It's Sara.”

 

“Listen, Sara. I know you're just doing your job, but this is very important. Do you think it might be possible that – just this once – you told Her Highness that Iker Casillas is on the phone and it's _very important_ that he got to speak with her?” The pause that followed on her end, he was decidedly unable to read. “Sara?”

 

“I am... terribly sorry, Mr. Casillas, but Her Highness expressly instructed us not to put you through.”

 

Somehow, the rejection didn't even hurt. But then again, he wasn't even surprised. He had only called to make sure anyway. “I see,” he said quietly. “That's what I thought.”

 

“Mr. Casillas, I'm truly sor-”

 

He hung up on her without another word. In a last fit of petulant defiance, he extinguished the cigarette in the last drops of whiskey still remaining in his glass – and regretted it immediately. “Damn,” he whispered. “Now it's even come to that.”

 

He waved away the remnants of smoke still clinging to the air and obscuring the view of the screen in front of him. It was a moot gesture, though. He already knew what was waiting for him there, and he blindly moved the cursor until it was hovering over the button he'd been waiting to push his entire life.

 

Post now, it said.

 

“Yep,” he said as he clicked it without hesitation. “Post now.”

 

He watched the upload bar creep forward, and it took a few minutes longer than he had imagined, without his favourite hacker by his side to speed up the process. The number of files posted was steadily climbing higher and higher, though, so he didn't find it in him to worry. He busied himself with one last look at his mind map instead, torn down from the wall above his desk and spread out in messy heaps across the floor.

 

There had been no need for order once the scanner had been through.

 

Thankfully, _they_ took even longer than expected, too, and he was just starting to think no one had noticed when they finally arrived. He didn't flinch when the sound of screeching tires could be heard through the open front door. He didn't move when hurried footsteps could be heard on the stairs. He didn't run when faceless suits poured in through the door to his office, guns cocked and ready.

 

One of them stepped forward, the heels of his black shoes mindlessly crushing the precious paper beneath his feet. “Mr. Casillas. We've come to arrest you under suspicion of high treason.” He took a breath to continue his routine speech, but Iker quickly held up a hand to stop him.

 

“Gentlemen. If you would give me a moment.”

 

In the tense silence that followed, he took the time to run his fingers along the edge of the picture one last time. The movement caught the attention of everyone else in the room, and he couldn't help a grin as he flicked open the lighter he carried in the other hand. The light of the flame that sprang to life flickered across the carpet of paper at his feet, reflecting off the pages in oddly vibrant colours.

 

The agents who had their guns trained on him realized a split-second too late what it meant, but Iker couldn't care less. The mind map was all but useless now, and his life's work only served one more purpose. When his computer gave a self-satisfied beep that told him the upload was finished, his grin only got wider.

 

“Fucking finally,” he said and let go of the flame.

 

 

— † —

 

 

THE END! Can you believe it?!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also many thanks to Destiny's Child for that great song!


End file.
